


Memories of Stone and Fire

by IchijouKenichiro



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Gender Concepts, F/M, Family Drama, Guilt, M/M, Other, Parent Death, Sibling Death, Sibling fights, Survivor Guilt, discovering who your real parents are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchijouKenichiro/pseuds/IchijouKenichiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin recalls his past as the company journeys to reclaim Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of Stone and Fire

Memories of Stone and Fire

Thorin stared into Thranduil’s thin face. He knew that the fate of their quest depended upon his actions. The lives of his company stood in the balance, and the fate of his people. He was a King now, too, and he would not allow Thranduil to treat him as though they were not equals. The elf lord swept away from his throne and in a few short strides was in front of Thorin. Thorin tensed as he fell into the shadow of the taller King, staring up toward the impassive face. He was used to looking up to his enemies, knowing they felt superior in their size. He could almost hear his father’s voice, from when he was still a child, “The taller they are, the closer their vitals are to your axe.”

Thorin steeled himself. He would not reveal the true purpose of their journey.

The fair head bent in close to his.

“What were you doing in the forest?” Thranduil asked again, piercing eyes staring into Thorin’s.

That cold grey stare brought a sudden memory, as clear and sharp as if it had been a cord plucked from his harp. Although Thorin was but a lad, how unchanged the elf looked from that time he had left Thorin with nothing but a hangover in his chamber. The pain of that embarrassment was nearly as strong now as then. Other memories of his kinsmen being turned away from Mirkwood, with little but a sentiment of condolence, to face the wilds and hunger, as the fair king turned his back on their alliance also rose to the forefront of his mind.

The events of the past churned over and over, adding to the frustration he felt about such an outrageous interrogation. The starvation was as real now as it had been then. He had intended to try to negotiate with the elf, but his rage, furthered by his appetite, blinded him. He would rather die than give the elf anything he desired. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, just as it had done on that night. Rage erupted from within him. “Looking for food and drink, because we were starving!” he spat at the other king.

Thranduil's voice rose, too, emotion abruptly replaced his normally taciturn demeanor. ”But what brought you into the forest at all?!”

Thorin stared ahead fuming, refusing to speak. He felt some victory in managing to elicit any emotional reaction from Thranduil, but there was nothing else to say. He crossed his arms and stared back into the pale face, he would say no more.

"Very well! Take him away and keep him safe, until he feels inclined to tell the truth." Thranduil paused, his booming voice returning to a soft, satisfactory sneer, his slender arm rising for the guards, "Even if he waits a hundred years."

Thorin raised his head in angry defiance. A thousand curses lay chained to his tongue. Of course Thranduil would respond like this. Once again he was being cast aside as something worthless, an object that was only worthy of attention when there was a use for it. Decades may have passed, but elves never changed, it seemed. He would never forget this day. Nor would he forgive the slight.  
\----- 

It had started with the annual feast to commemorate the alliance between Erebor and the elves of the Woodland Realm. There was the usual bustle as the feasts and the quarters made comfortable for their fairer companions.

Thorin followed his father on the inspection of the fortified wine for the elven table. It was long ago discovered that sober elves had distaste of proper dwarven table manner. The elves never said anything outright, but the sideways glances and the long looks down their noses was enough to irk the tempers of all but the most patient dwarf lords.

In response, Erebor's brewers began to garner the most popular elvish wine recipes and then fortify them. The elves of the woodland realm had a great love of smooth wines and melomels and the less they tasted the strength of the liquor, the more they drank.

Thráin was particularly clear in teaching Thorin about it.

“Thorin, my lad, do you know how important to successful banquets these liquors are?” he told him each time the arrival of their guests would approach. 

“Yes, Father.”

“That’s why we have to make sure you can taste the differences. Our elven guests like to puzzle out the subtle flavors of each one, therefore, you need to be able to as well. How else will you learn to make conversation when you’re trying to get away from a sore political debate?” Thráin knocked his son’s shoulder with his elbow. “Plus, they are damn good at tasting things. Wouldn’t want them to find out about it.”

“I just don’t know, Father. I don’t think I will be very good at discussing such matters.” Thorin hung his head a little, staring at a swirl pattern in the marble floor.

“Nonsense! Why that speech you gave at your brother’s last name day was as good as any of the noble dwarves there.”

Thorin waited to see if his father was joking. When he saw there was no jest, he nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be the King yourself one day, in the distant future of course, but until then you have plenty of time to learn. For example,” the prince of Erebor stopped before a large keg, pulled out the cork, poured a small cup, and held it before his son, “tell me what you can get from this one.”

Thorin reached out and took the cup from his father, noticing briefly how much larger Thráin’s hands still seemed to him. Closing his eyes as he’d been instructed, he gingerly sniffed at the wine and then took a small sip, swirling the flavors of it over his tongue before he swallowed.

“Well?”

“It’s slightly sweet. A bit acidic maybe? There’s some sort of berry. Reminds me of that mulberry wine that we received in the fall.” Thorin opened his eyes. “Is this the fortified version of that?”

Thráin practically beamed down at his son before he let out a hearty laugh. "Ha ha! That’s right! Any elf with a few glasses of these in them is sure to be a merry companion. Without it, they can become quite critical of even the smallest details of state. Some become completely insufferable. In short, make the wine well fortified, although secretly, and you can scarcely tell the difference between dwarf and elf. Well, apart from their naked faces and their height of course.” Thorin let out a small chuckle and Thráin ruffled his hair. "Come, let's try the last of these wines and see if I can't get another smile out of you, my son. We might as well enjoy our task."

Just as Thráin was showing Thorin a particularly difficult wine, two dwarflings came tearing into the room, one of them crying. 

"What's all this now?" Thráin called, his voice booming across the hall and echoing from all the walls, in a manner meaning he was their father and he was serious. The taller child stopped dead where he was.

"It's nothing, Papa! Dis' just fussing because he wants to wear a dress like Da," he said, placing his hands on his hips.

"Can’t I, Papa? Please? I wanna wear pretty hair beads and long skirts and... and...." The child erupted into sobs and grabbed a hold of Thráin's thigh with his small hands.

"Hush now, sweet child, it is your first official presentation to non-dwarves. Therefore, you may decide to wear a dress." Dis' face lit up and Frerin looked indignant and sucked his teeth. 

Thráin bent down on one knee and set his forehead against Dis'. "You must know though, my dear, that once you make your choice, you cannot change it. If you are to be our daughter to the elves, you must always remain our daughter. That means that the choice will be permanent, you cannot be our son afterward."

Thorin cringed on the inside. His brothers were lucky enough to have a choice in which gender they wanted to present themselves. He, on the other hand, was the eldest, and so was required to be a son. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve chosen though if he had been allowed. Looking between his siblings he wasn’t sure either one suited him.

Dis scrunched up his small face in thought. Thráin stroked his youngest's hair. "Take your time to decide. You still have two days before we would have to send for the dressmaker either way. You let your Da know your decision and he'll take care of the rest." With that he stood and walked over to Frerin. "You, young man, get to go help your grandfather with his boot fittings."

"No, Papa! Don't make me! I promise not to tease Dís about his dress again!"

"And what about your history lessons that you skipped out on this morning?"

Frerin's eyes got big and he looked to Thorin, pleading for assistance.

"Don't look for your brother to help you out of this one. He has gotten you out of trouble on more than enough occasions for you to handle this yourself. You are twenty eight years old and should be capable of taking responsibility for your actions and their consequences."

"Father," Thorin began, taking pity on his brother, "couldn't he just-"

Thráin's hand came up for silence and he shook his head. Thorin looked to his brother sympathetically and Frerin deflated. "Yes, sir," the young Dwarf said as he slumped off to his chore, the soles of his boots dragging along the marble floor.

"Thorin, you really must stop spoiling him,” his father said, turning to Thorin. “He will never learn to rely on himself otherwise. Now, shall we go and see how the feast preparations are coming?”  
\----- 

When the day of the feast arrived, the whole family shone in royal splendor as they went together to receive their guests. Dís was presented as daughter of Thráin. He looked every bit the young Dwarf maiden in the long blue satin dress, silver hair ornaments, and his stubble shaped in the feminine style. As a gift for his choosing, Dís was given a large sapphire pendant, which hung on a long silver chain, and a pair of silver and sapphire earrings.

Thorin himself was dressed in a blue satin tunic with ermine fur cuffs and a black brocade vest. His hair and beard were braided with white gold beads and sapphires. The biggest change to his attire from normal was the small white gold crown he wore to show his place as heir.

Frerin, who was busy trying to make Thorin laugh while they processed, was dressed in a matching tunic and vest to Thorin. Although he was not allowed to wear his war boots until he had passed his first trial of war, Thrór had elk leather replicas made special for the day and Frerin was only too excited to be able to show them off, along with a silver necklace Thorin had forged him on his last name day. 

To keep from laughing Thorin instead looked to his parents. Dorin and Thráin wore matching outfits of blue and black velvet, all set in with thousands of shimmering sapphires and diamonds that sent reflections of light in all directions. It was hard to believe that such exquisite looking Dwarves could be the family he ate and fought and played with.

It was not Thorin's first time at such a function, but it was his first time attending since he had officially been named as his father's heir and he was still getting used to the weight of his new title. No longer could he act like a child and run around with his siblings once the speeches and feasting were over. He would have to stay and talk now. The one upside was that he would be allowed to join in the after feast games. 

Thorin never could understand the need for dwarves to separate themselves into the two gender categories when outsiders were around. There was no dwarf who was man or woman as elves and men seemed to practice. Dwarves were dwarves. They only had one gender, which ended up becoming 'he' in the common tongue. For a dwarf, when you found someone who you loved and the love was returned, then that was whom you were to marry. If you were lucky, you were able to have children, although many did not.

There were of course differences in anatomy between dwarves, which could be called “male”, and "female", but it only played a role in whether or not you could have children. And besides, with so few “females” it made more sense to form bonds based upon one’s heart.

There were some exceptions to the normal gender roles, as with the royal family. For the royal family, all dwarves had to make a choice. And once it was made, it could not be changed. Thorin had been given no choice as the first child, which meant he was son of Thráin regardless of his wishes, not that he thought a dress would've suited him. His brother, Frerin, who idealized him had chosen to follow in his footsteps and be second son. Dís had always been quite independent, and although he loved both of his brothers, he had always taken joy in doing things differently. Thorin had been hesitant at first, but upon seeing Dís in the dress and shining in jewelry, he could not think of anything that suited his brother more.

Additionally, marriages were arranged and the prospective dwarf joining the royal family had to take on the role of princess or queen if marrying a "male" dwarf. Naturally, only those dwarf lords who had not presented as male to outsiders could be considered in the arranged marriages of Future kings. Dis' decision to be daughter had been well accepted because it meant that for any alliances that Erebor might have to make, they had the ability to now marry to a son, as well as a daughter, of another kingdom.

Even with the differences in clothing between men and women in elves, Thorin still had problems telling which type of elf was which. The tall thin form of elves looked much the same from one to the other in his eyes. As Thranduil's procession approached, Thorin spotted Thranduil's heir walking gracefully behind him. At least he could tell that he was the crown prince. But as for the servant that followed behind him, Thorin was unsure. Was that the clothing a color of a woman or was it just that he was unwed? Thorin had never been good at keeping these things straight, even after having met elves on so many occasions. At least there were advisers for such times when you were the King; he knew he would need their help.

His fathers walked with the elf king while he and his brothers walked with the prince, Thorin and Thranduil's son behind his two brothers. As they made their way through the grand halls of their mountain kingdom, he glanced sideways at the elf he had been paired with. He looked not much older than Thorin, although he knew that the other boy was easily centuries older, with the same lithe figure as his father. But the prince was darker skinned and his hair not as light as the King’s. 

Bright eyes caught his for a moment before he looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. 

“Did you need something?” Asked a voice much higher and softer than his Da, the queen’s was.

“No,” Thorin replied. But even as he forced his eyes on the path in front of him, he could feel the presence of the gaze upon him. Perhaps they were equally curious about each other.

"A little nervous then?" the prince tried again.

Thorin turned to the princeling, noting the small smile on his lips. "Not particularly, Prince Legolas. You?" He tried to be even toned and diplomatic like his father had taught him.

"Of course not," the elf replied defensively, " I was just curious because of your solemn expression. I must admit that although we visit Erebor every year, I still do not well know the social cues of Dwarves. You are a very serious and glum looking people."

Thorin smiled. "I understand. As a Dwarf, many of your elvish customs are quite foreign to us. However, we are mostly solemn as an expression that we are talking our duty seriously. Even the stern looks of my grandfather are just an expression of how devoted he is to our lands. But he is very kind, so please be at ease here." He inclined his head.

Legolas smiled back at him, returning the gesture. "Thank you, Lord Thorin. If we are lucky we will have time to speak at tonight's feast. Perhaps I can enlighten you to the ways of my own people."

"I would enjoy that," Thorin replied and motioned ahead. "Here we are."

Once they entered the throne room Thorin would not speak with the prince again until late into the evening after the feast had finished.  
\----- 

Dorin and Dís had retired with the "ladies”. The "lords", on the other hand, got up and left the feast hall to begin drinking in earnest, telling tales of times past, and engaging in various games. Frerin, who had tried to show off his drinking skills before their elvish guests, was now snoring softly on a long bench at the back of the feast hall and Thrór had assured Thorin that a servant would take the young dwarf back to his chambers to sleep off the alcohol. 

Thorin sat with a small group of young dwarf lords playing one of the most popular games; the Elves and many of the old dwarves were discussing trade policies and politics at the tables. The game he played was a drinking game, as most dwarven games were, where players rolled a die to move their pieces across a board. The pieces were small glasses of weak liquor, which one would have to drink if on their turn they were unable to move freely. The rounds were short and bets were made for each round, typically three to five in total for each game. Bets could be anything from jewelry, clothing, services to the winner, or anything else that suited the players at the time. The older elves seems to find such games were vulgar, and so they all kept away from them, preferring conversation or singing and dancing instead. Thorin found himself more at ease at such a table, away from the diplomatic responsibilities.

After his second game of wins, Thorin had managed to only take a handful of shots and had lost his vest to a cousin, whom he knew would be forced to return it at Durin's Day. He grinned as he rolled the dice and placed his piece on the only safe spot for his opponent and crossed his arms.

Urnor, a dwarf twenty years his senior, scowled and snatched up the small glass of liquor, draining it in an instant. He slammed the glass and the knife he had made just a week ago onto the table. "Take it! I already started on a better one." He stumbled as he got out of the seat and bumped against a taller man as he grumbled off.

"Who's next?" Thorin asked proudly, confidence boosted further by the shots on top of the fortified wine and ale he had consumed at feast.

"I will take you on, if you show me how," said the soft voice of the taller man that Urnor had bumped into. Thorin was surprised to see the wine blushed face of the elf prince. He had almost forgotten about the man during the speeches and drinking.

“Got tired of political discussions?”

“How did you ever guess?”

“It’s a betting game. Do you think you can handle it?” Thorin asked smugly.

“You act as though I have never gambled before. I’ve been playing games like this one for centuries before you were even born. Are you going to teach me, or are you worried you’ll lose to an elf?” Legolas replied haughtily.

Thorin laughed. “You will eat those words soon enough," he replied with a grin that was matched by his new opponent.  
\----- 

Thorin set his piece down hard on the table, his hand less than steady. "Ha!"

"The devil's luck!" cried the elf and knocked back the shot. "Must I now decide between tunic and breeches, then?"

"Unless you're hiding some other layers somewhere."

"I fear that I was ill-advised on the proper attire to wear to this banquet and on the nature of dwarven games," Legolas slurred, his hair covering his face as his listed to the side and removed his belt, dropping it on the pile. "There! This counts, does it not?" 

The two of them had grown quite loud as the drinking and inebriated taunts increased. After a few throat clearings and glares from their elders, they had laughed like children and decided to move where they would be undisturbed. The anti-chamber to the guest royal quarters was chosen for its large size and the seclusion it offered while the servants were eating their diner before heading to bed. Thorin and Legolas were now on their 6th round.

"It does indeed. But soon enough you will have to choose between the two," Thorin said, leaning in with his finger in the elf's face.

"I am starting to get the hang of this, you know," came the reply and a finger right back in his face. "You are now in danger of being down to the same decision yourself."

"Roll that die and we shall see!"

But the roll did Legolas little good and a round later the decision was his again. Standing upon shaky legs, the elf raised his fair face indignantly. "I will not be bested without returning the favor, I will have you know. And when next your royal household visits mine, you will have to try one of our games and see how well you do at it."

"You will be doubly embarrassed when I beat you at your own game as well." Thorin grinned and went to lean on the table, his elbow slipping off clumsily for a moment before he put it back on top as if he hadn't missed the first time around. He looked up expectantly. "And your choice?"

The elf gave a small snort and slid off his trousers under his long tunic. "Made," he said flippantly and took up his seat drunkenly. Despite the inebriation, the movement was not entirely without grace, and the tall figure moved like a leaf caught in a gust of wind before alighting upon the ground. Certainly not the type of movement that the elves were known for, but Thorin was impressed by the fluidity of the stumble never the less. He had expected after so many shots that the princeling would’ve fallen right on his pretty little face.

Just as they were setting up for the next round a voice boomed within the room, echoing off the stone walls. "Legolas! Why have you been tarrying here and not speaking with our hosts?" 

The elf who entered had cheeks flushed as crimson as the leaves of his crown, although it was hard to tell how much was from the night's drink and how much was anger. Never the less, his tall figure was imposing, his head appeared to be wreathed in fire set against his otherwise porcelain skin and pale golden hair. The grey eyes moved as a hawk on the hunt and when they caught Thorin's for an instant, he felt as though his mind and soul lay exposed.

The young elf's face paled, his eyes wide and panicked. "Ada! I was just trying a dwarven game with Lord Th--"

"Yes, I can see that. Just as I can discern that you have quite forgotten yourself to this game. Pray, take your cloak and clothes and redress yourself. Then I want you to take a walk to clear you head until you can return to entertain the rest of our gracious hosts. We shall speak later about this. When you have your wits about you."

"Yes, father."

Once he got over his initial shock, Thorin felt a hint of guilt and pity as he saw the look upon the prince's face. It reminded him so much of Frerin's when he was caught doing something he knew he shouldn't have done.

The young elf bowed his head as he grabbed up his clothes. In one swift motion he pulled on his trousers. Then, draping his long cloak about his shoulders, he hurried out of the room without another word.

The realization dawned on Thorin that he was alone with the King of the Woodland Realm. More than that, he was the cause of the distress upon that noble face. His own actions now seemed much less wise. 

"Pardon me, your Majesty, by your leave, I shall retire as well," Thorin said, bowing his head in the most formal fashion he could remember with his brain swimming. He waited for some sign that he could leave, his knees trembling under him.

After several moments of silence, he looked up towards those grey pale eyes. The elf king was regarding Thorin quietly, as if coming to some sort of conclusion. "Before you take your leave, child," the words were drawn out as trill upon a fiddle.

"Yes?" Thorin asked, now becoming quite nervous of what penance he may be asked for in return.

"I would like you to teach me this game of yours.”  
\----- 

Thorin pondered his next move carefully. He was now down to his last few articles of clothing. The Elvenking, who had taken a few shots in the early rounds of the game, had lost his cloak, and was now beating him thoroughly. Centuries of experience left Thorin outmatched in the very game in which he had thought himself skilled. 

"Come now, child, it is your turn again.” There was a laugh in the King's voice that only served to frustrate Thorin. Although he took pride in the fact that Thranduil was thoroughly inebriated. His eyes flicked to the droplet of spirits that clung to the corner of Thranduil’s bottom lip. Never had he seen an elf look anything other than prim and perfect. Yet here was a single drop of imperfection on his fair face. Thorin was entranced.

“Stalling will not make the outcome any less certain," continued the King, noticing the droplet and lapping it up with a quick flick of his tongue. 

Thorin bit his lip and looked away. He needed to stay focused on the game. It was obvious that one of the two moves open to him would lose him the round in the next turn. The other move relied on him not being blocked and getting a red one, the hardest roll to get in the game. Still a chance was better than nothing.

"Going with the gamble then, I see," Thranduil said, but did not even look up from the board as he rolled the dice. Thorin held his breath as he saw the outcome and his only means of escape were blocked.

Thorin cursed under his breath and the pale head turned to him. "Which will it be?" The long thin fingers held out the last shot to him and he let his gaze linger on their slenderness. 

Thorin took the shot in one hand, his fingertips brushing against Thranduil’s and for a moment their eyes met. He didn’t know what it meant, but there was a look as though a question lay in that gaze. He ignored the feeling, believing it to be the fault of the wine. He shook a braid from his face and tried to decide which article he was to lose. He had not been nude in front of an outsider before and the thought of being exposed to this elf king was not something he looked forward to. 

The gaze was boring into him; he could feel it even without seeing it. He couldn't stand the pressure and knocked back the shot. Then he stood and quickly wiggled out of his trousers. The King chuckled as Thorin struggled with the leg of one side when it caught at his ankle. Thorin hopped upon one foot as he liberated it and the King's perfectly kept hair slipped a little from behind the weight of his crown, a few locks falling around his face, as he laughed more, but Thranduil didn't seem to notice.

“Well, your majesty,” said Thorin as he wiped a little sweat from his face and sat back down, “you seem to be adept at games of strategy. But how about trying a game of chance? The rules are very simple.”

"What sort of game of chance?" Thranduil asked skeptically, leaning in closer to peer into Thorin’s eyes.

Thorin smirked. "As simple as rolling the very die we’ve been playing with."

“Surely there is more to it than that.”

Now he knew he had Thranduil were he wanted him. “Only that you need to predict how the die will fall.”

“I am intrigued.” Thranduil leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “Go on.” 

Thorin picked up a cup that rested on the sideboard nearby. “I will throw the die into this goblet and shake it.” He demonstrated as he went. “Then I will slam it face down on the table, like so.”

Thranduil watched carefully. “And is this the point where one makes their predictions?”

“Precisely. You must guess if the die is even or odd. And you have to guess the color. If you get one right, it is a draw and we both drink. If you get both correct, I drink and remove an item of clothing. But if you get neither right, then you drink and remove an item of clothing.”

“I see. Simple to play and hard to win.” He seemed to think things over carefully before answering. “Very well. It is only fair that I give you a chance to regain some of your honor after the last game.”

Thorin grinned as he rolled up the leather board of the last game and set aside both the board and the extra shot glasses. Then he began to pour the losing shots for the new game, spilling one of them on the table as he went. He used the cuff of his tunic to wipe what he could off the table before continuing. 

Thranduil waited patiently without a word, watching him do all the work.

Thorin gave himself a mental pat on the back as he went. At this point there wasn’t much he could lose and he now had the chance to even the score.

“It you’re ready, we can begin.”

Thranduil nodded and Thorin shook the die and slammed it down.

“Odd… blue,” the elf said cautiously.

Thorin lifted up the goblet. “Odd red. A draw.” Not as well as he’d hoped for, but it was a start.

Thranduil picked up two shots and handed one to Thorin. He took it and nodded at the King. They knocked the shots back and Thorin put the die back into the goblet again, shaking it. 

The goblet landed face down on the table. 

“Even green.”

Thorin laughed as he lifted the cup. “Odd blue, your majesty.”

Thranduil unlaced the front of his robe, sliding it slowly off his shoulders, before folding it neatly and setting it aside. Thorin was less than pleased to see that he wore another robe underneath.

“And your shot.” He held it out. 

“Thank you. I wouldn’t want to forget that part,” Thranduil replied sarcastically and drained the glass.

They continued in this manner until Thorin could barely keep the dice on the table as he turned over the goblet. The King spilled half of his shot, catching it in his other palm and gently sipped it. Thorin leaned across the table and brushed away a lingering trail from Thranduil’s chin and he was instantly unsure of himself. His hand hung in the air between them as they stared at one another, unmoving.

Finally Thranduil spoke. “Let this be the last round, all or nothing. We both shall guess and the one who is most correct wins. There will be no draws. If we are equal, we roll until one of us wins ”

Thorin smirked, letting his eyes rove over what remained of the king’s garments. He had only one sheer silk robe and his crown left. “You have a deal.”

Thorin lifted the goblet to the center of the table, eyes locked on his opponent. Thranduil placed the dice within, holding Thorin’s gaze. The tension in the air was electric, raising the hairs on the back of Thorin’s neck, and he shivered involuntarily. 

Thranduil grasped the other side of the goblet. Thorin widened his grip so that his fingers lay overtop of the King’s as he began to shake it. “One.”

“Two,” said the King as he shook the goblet also.

“Three.”

They slammed the goblet down, eyes still locked.

“And your guess?” asked Thranduil smoothly.

“Even. Red,” replied Thorin, knowing that red was the least likely to come up. But there was something that made him want to play recklessly, even a little dangerously. His answer was a challenge.

“I see. Then I choose Odd. Yellow.” 

Together they lifted the goblet and broke eye contact to see the results.

“It appears I have won,” Thranduil said smiling and handed the last shot to Thorin. “You really should make wiser choices when you have everything at stake.”

Thorin’s tongue was too liquid in his mouth to reply, so he knocked the alcohol back and slammed the glass onto the table. He knew he had lost the game, but he didn’t feel like he had truly lost. He pulled his tunic over his head and threw it on the table. Then he smirked in satisfaction as Thranduil's eyes widened. At least he found some way to shock the smug elf. 

He stood and leaned forward across the table, intent on making a witty remark, but instead he found his hands tangled in the long blonde hair, pulling the elvenking up out of his seat. That was the last thing Thorin remembered until the next morning.  
\----- 

A bright and painful light was the first thing that greeted Thorin, although it would not be the last thing that he would curse about that terrible morning. He fought to open his eyes. His head was pounding and he could use a glass of--

"Water, dear heart?" came a soft voice.

Thorin's eyes snapped open, even through the pain of the blurry brightness, he searched for the voice that was both foreign and familiar to him.

A hand came to his shoulder and held him gently, but firmly, from sitting up all the way. "Not so fast, my pet, you are likely to cause yourself more pain if you move too quickly. You had quite a bit to drink last night after all."

Thorin’s eyes widdened as the nearness of Thranduil's face came into view. He was in the elvenking’s bed. What had happened last night to take things to this point? He had drunk so much the details were lost to him.

More importantly, what would his father say if he found out what had come to pass between them? Surely this was not the type of diplomacy his father and grandfather would have expected him to have learned. This sort of activity was not how one acted and remained an heir to the throne. He could be disinherited for such an act! 

His Da had warned him never to let himself follow the actions of drink and and a pretty face, but that’s exactly what last night was. Why had he done it? Why did he let himself get so drunk?

His hands came up to his chest immediately and he was surprised to feel silk, not bare flesh beneath his hands.

"Do not worry. I am not so unkind as to leave my companion for the evening nude in the hallway. However, I fear I also lost my head to the wine. Therefore, I consider myself somewhat responsible for the state you are in, regardless of your… eagerness, shall we say, in initiating various activities. As penance for my role in this, if there is ever a time where you are in need, you only have to ask and I shall come to your aid."

A tankard of water was placed in his hands, but he could only stare blankly ahead. He could almost recall something, but the memories were still just out of reach.

Thranduil rose from the bed. He was wearing only a long partially translucent silk robe with sleeves so long they dragged along the floor as he walked. Those slender hands he had admired just the night before, pulled the curtain partway closed, shielding him from the glare of the sunlight. "Take your time here. I have to make excuses for my own son and I can make yours for you as well."

Thorin knew he needed to speak then. There were many things he should say about having another make his excuses and there were questions of the night before he felt necessary to ask. But his throat was dry and his words were only creaks. The elf did not seem to take any notice as he began to get changed out of his nightgown and into the elaborate under robe of his day’s outfit.

Thorin’s breath held. He could only stare on and watch those long limbs become exposed and then covered again. Perfectly smooth skin, save a few places around the neck and shoulders where constellations of small bruises blossomed. 

A brief flash came into his mind’s eye of bare bodies and the sweetness of slightly salted flesh. He felt adrift as in a dream. There were too many things that could not be happening for this to be other than a dream. And yet those small marks he had left on the elf’s skin were no less real.

Thranduil came to Thorin's side of the large bed, bent down, and kissed his forehead softly. At least Thorin thought that's what it must've been, although it was so light it was almost as though it hadn't been at all.

“Is this real?” he asked, barely more than a whisper, even as his voice cracked, “Or is this a dream?”

Thranduil gave him a sad smile. "As I would not want this to seed a rift between our peoples, let us call it that and allow the night to pass from our memory as if it were a fading dream in the morning light." His long thin fingers stroked either side of Thorin's rough cheeks. It was a lighter and tenderer touch than he could ever remember receiving. He missed the feel of it the moment it passed and Thranduil rose back to his full height. Something in the King’s manner changed then.

“I have to know,” Thorin began hoarsely, but he went quiet as the King walked away from him and towards the door instead.

"Drink all of that water and make sure to eat a hearty meal when you break your fast. I will keep my servants in the outer chamber only until I am finished dressing, then I shall dismiss them and be in negotiations with your father and grandfather until late in the evening. The quarters will be unoccupied and you may prepare yourself at your own leisure. Take care, Thorin, daughter of Thráin."

Before Thorin could correct the King, he was out of the room and the voices of servants, busily attending to their lord could be heard. Thorin covered his breasts with his free hand and sipped at the water he was holding. He was unsure of how he should feel. Surely they could just let things go and neither side would have to bring what happened to light. He did not think the king the type to speak of such matters, but he was also not sure how the act would change the way they interacted in the future. 

If he were to become King one day, Thranduil would no doubt still be upon the throne. How would that change the political alliance between Erebor and the Woodland Realm? Oh, it was too much to think about. He prayed that the previous night really would disappear into a forgotten memory and not come back to haunt him later.  
\----- 

Thorin's cell in Mirkwood was very deep in the lower parts of the cavern. He could not hear much, other than occasional distant Elf voices and the sound of water dripping along a wall. Other than those sounds he was completely isolated, except when the guards would come by to leave him food.

His meals, while not poor, were always the same. Water, bread, and a slice of cheese with meat or stew. He should be thankful for having steady meals and being out of the cold and harm's way for the moment, but he knew not how to break free and find his companions. He hoped they were not also locked away within the woodland prison. What he would give to have Gandalf here to break the spells on the doors and have Orcrist in his hand again.

Thorin kept reviewing the events in his mind over and over again, but still there was no memory from the time he stepped into the clearing until he had awoken inside of Mirkwood’s castle. He supposed that it was the same spell that left Bombur asleep after the river and Bilbo asleep when they stepped into the Elven feast in the forest, but it had not felt like he had supposed it would. Although he knew it was fruitless to try to recall a memory you never had, there were only graver things to ponder and so his mind turned to what might have happened to bring him here. Was he the only one? Were his companions out there still starving? Or had they also been captured?

As the days passed, his resolve to keep his mission secret were weakening. If he could not escape soon, what chance did they have of making it by Durin's Day to the secret door? He was being overcome with that sense of monotony and helplessness that he had only experienced when he was first with child  
\----- 

Thorin returned to his home in the grey mountains from his journey disheartened. Business had been fine, but it had been admitting to himself that his fears had come true, which weighed on his mind. The doctor he had visited was supposed to be the best outside of Rivendell, an elf who had taken to healing mortals without asking any questions.

And since Thorin was yet an unwed heir, it made his predicament all the more serious. Before he could reveal the cause to the council of elders, he went to his brother, Dis, always the levelheaded confidant. Since the King had gone missing and Thorin was yet young, decisions for their people were decided by vote with the council. Although Thorin and Dís both had a vote, their votes alone were not enough to make decisions. And so Thorin was left to worry what would come.

“I noticed that Lord Alnig had not returned with you. And now seeing you like this, I think I can guess what troubles you, dear son of my father.”

“It is true that Alnig chose to stay behind,” Thorin said, “For it seems he has found his one.”

“Oh, Thorin!” Dís cooed, grasping his hand. “I am so very sorry. I know you two had been getting close and even the council of elders had been starting negotiations for the marriage contract.”

“We had a chemistry, of that there is no doubt. But when he met that glassblower in—“

“A glassblower?!” cried Dís in disbelief. Thorin could see the defensive rant that was to come.

He raised his other hand to stop his brother. “You could tell they were meant for one another. If you had been there you would know there was nothing that could be done for it.” Thorin brushed a fallen lock from his face. “But that, my father’s daughter, is not why I have sought your council.”

“There is more?”

“I made a side trip before returning home.” Thorin paused and took a deep breath. “I went to the healer on the hill.”

“Then, you and Alnig….”

Thorin nodded. “Right after we signed the last trade agreement.”

"Are you sure?" Dís tightened his grip on Thorin’s hand. "There's really no other ailment it could be?"

Thorin shook his gloomy head. "The doctor told me that it is certain. The morning illness should be the next symptom to arise. And now I come to you for council, Dis, daughter of my father. What should be done?"

"Do you wish to let it live or are you seeking to let it pass back to our creator, Thorin, last remaining son and heir of my father?" Dís reached out and stroked Thorin's hair, looking up to him earnestly. "You know I shall do whatever it is that you ask of me."

"I know that you will. And yet, I have not yet decided what should become of it."

"If you were but married, the child could become your heir and there would be no problem."

"Yes. The council would be quite proud of me then. But alas, I fear that with so little time left, that finding a match for me before the child will be born would be impossible."

The two sat in silence, trying to come up with one way or another to deal with such an issue. A quick and quiet death for the thing seemed the least cruel, although whenever either tried to speak of it, they became uneasy. It did not sit well with them to think of killing the next generation of Durin’s folk. Not after so many had perished in dragon fire and battle. And so they continued to think.

After much discussion it was decided that they could not kill the child, who might be the only rightful heir to the throne one day. The more they spoke of the child, the more the brothers became fond it. So without knowing what else to do, they went before the council of elders and told them of Thorin's plight.

A great deal of yelling ensued, broken only when Dís stepped forward and proposed an idea that made Thorin's heart sink.

Dis was quickly engaged and shortly after wed to a cousin from the south. He was a fine young man with curly light brown hair and a kind smile. He had not had any ambitions of joining the royal family and had even refused the marriage until he had seen Dís. Dís' beauty was enough to sway his heart and Dís found his poetic nature and good humor kept a smile on her face. Soon after their engagement, a great love between them blossomed and grew.

Thorin was happy that his brother could find someone who suited him so well and it was not long before the second stage of their plan came to be. Dís had grown out the part of his beard that was normally kept trimmed into the feminine style and when long enough Thorin trimmed his beard and they exchanged their beard beads. Those few simple beads that denoted his place as heir had not been heavy, but without them he felt something missing. His brother, on the other hand, seemed to be deeply weighed down by them.

Not long afterwards Thorin was visibly with child and, in place of Dís, wore the beard and dresses of a daughter of the prince. After a feast incident where Thorin's normally quick temper, fueled by hormones, caused blood to be spilled in the main hall, Thorin was confined to his quarters during grand events on any number of excuses.

During that time, he spent much of his days swinging his axes in his brother’s room and smithing in his brother's section of the royal forge. When he was too heavy with child to do that, he passed his time viewing the crafts of the master forgers and planning out the next things he wanted to smith when he could finally be free to be himself again. But although he had these outlets, he still felt trapped like an animal in a cage. His temper was worse than ever then. The vicious circle of his temper and confinement meant he was urged to remain in his quarters more and more. Each day began to felt like an eternity with no relief.

If only he had Dís to keep him company in his state he would be able to relax, but Dís was busy taking his place in various routines. He missed Frerin terribly. Frerin would've been awful to him about being pregnant, but to see his brother's laughing face would do much to ease the pain. He had cried only one time for his brother after his funeral and it was then in that terrible room decorated so cheerfully. The light and color only reminded him of the bright days where he and his brothers played without a care. Frerin should've been here! But he had been killed, stolen before he was full grown. He had been too young to die! Forty-eight! Still a child! Thorin knew he had been partially to blame for his brother’s death before he was even fifty. And now Thorin felt completely alone, a stranger in his own home, without even the comfort of being himself.  
\----- 

He laid his head on his mud-soiled knees. How many miserable days had he been down here now? It must be at least three weeks. His resolve against the elven king was completely broken. Maybe it would have just been better if he went ahead and told Thranduil of his purpose in these lands.

And just at the moment he was at his lowest he heard a soft whisper calling his name. If this was some elf trick to find out his true reasons he thought maybe now was as good a time as ever to divulge the truth.

“Is someone there?”

"Thorin!" the voice said more clearly and although he could not make out the figure in the dark, he knew the voice to none other than Mr. Burglar Baggins himself. Perhaps there was some hope after all.

“Mr. Baggins? Could it really be?”

“It is indeed. You are very luck indeed that I should find you all the way down here. Now, there isn’t much time, so I shall tell you what I know.”

“Tell me everything,” Thorin urged.

As he stared into the darkness Bilbo told him of the capture of the others and spoke with him until near when the guards would arrive. Speaking to the hobbit, although he never once caught a glimpse of his little form, filled him with the confidence and resolve to escape once more. There was still hope. Erebor might still be reclaimed! The line of Durin might yet regain its glory and flourish. He thought now of his young nephews. The boys had often been a source of happiness and hope. And now he might finally be able to repay them by giving them the home they had deserved to live in and rule over one day. Perhaps his family might finally live together in peace.  
\----- 

"Have you decided on a name yet?" Dís asked one day when he stopped by to tell Thorin about the affairs of court.

"No. I thought we should decide together, brother. After all, he will be your son once he can go to the nursemaid."

"I am not yet ready to think of that,” Dís said, fidgeting with a bead at the end of his beard. “Still, I wonder if he will take more after you and the Durin line, or after his other father."

"You are wondering about if he will look too unlike you and your husband?"

"Only in passing. Now, as for a name, what think do you think is best?"

"What would feel right?" Thorin asked himself placing a hand on his belly, eyes closing and trying to picture the child. Picture how he might look and what his personality would be like.

Dis interrupted him almost immediately “Brother! Let us try the old magic then!” It was an old, but well-known, Dwarven spell to see the face of an unborn child.

“I would like that, but I don’t know the spell,” Thorin admitted.

Dis smiled and went to the bookshelf. Within a few moments he returned with a well-read book and flipped to one of many pages bookmarked with scraps of leather and embroidery. “Here it is.”

They shared the book, carefully reading the short passage over a few times to remember it. Then they set the book aside and faced one another. Together they recited the naming chant, Dis' hand upon Thorin’s as they both concentrated on the unborn babe.

After several long moments Thorin's eyes opened. He had seen a face in his mind. "…no." The name died in his throat. The face he'd seen, whether it was his son's or that of a ghost, he could not tell.

Dis made a pained face as he looked at Thorin. He had seen the same face and they both knew what name lingered on his lips. "But we could honor him, brother." Dis' smaller hand yet rested upon his brother's larger ones and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Thorin pressed his forehead against Dis’. "Yes, that's true."

Dis and Thorin spent a long while trying to come up with a suitable name until finally reaching the conclusion together. "Fíli."

Their joy at choosing a name was only surpassed when the next month Fíli was born and they could see a face not so dissimilar from Frerin's. Thorin stroked the tiny cheeks with a broad thumb and felt like he was seeing his brother born again into his life. He knew he would not be able to be father to Fíli as he should like, but he swore that he would make himself a part of the boy's life.

"I will make him my heir when he is of age," he promised Dis, noticing the tears that were in his brother's eyes.

Sniffing back the tears, Dís brushed the baby's hand with an index finger. "I will raise him so as to be fit for the honor, brother."

They looked at each other, Thorin’s own eyes brimming with tears of joy, and they laughed.  
\----- 

Once Bilbo had freed them all, he convinced them that this barrel plan was really the only option they had open. Thorin figured that as long as the plan worked, they would end up making it most of the rest of the way to the Lonely Mountain, no small feat. Bilbo had been good enough to give him one of the barrels that fit him snugly, so the bumping and bouncing wouldn’t knock him about as much. However, his long limbs had started to ache within the first hours in the confined space. As cold water started to leak in and the minutes passed into hours, his old battle wounds started to bother him as well, making any movement of the barrel torturous.

A few times he slipped into a short and restless sleep, only too soon to be awoken as the barrel struck some object in the river or the current caused the barrel to bob too greatly. Since he was in and out of consciousness and could not see the light of day, he had no way to gauge how much time had passed since he had gotten into his wooden transport. In the dark he tried to let his mind wander, not to concentrate on the pain, but on what he would do once they were released.

The darkness had not bothered him before this, he even welcomed it where orcs and goblins were not concerned, but as time stretched on and on, he began to long for even the slightest glimpse of outside. It was of course impossible. A hole that size in his barrel would certainly mean he would drown before they reached their escape. He hoped that all of his comrades were faring at least as well as he was. Like poor Gloin, who had terrible claustrophobia? Surely the long journey would be sending him into quite the spell. He was more worried about him than of his nephews, who, having been packed in some of the better barrels would be fine other than the lack of food.

How long had it been since any of them had eaten? The hunger he had felt so much earlier had turned into a warm ache within him. But Hunger was the least of his worries. He feared if he was left too much longer inside the barrel he might never be able to move his knees or elbows again. And so, to distract from the pain once more, he let himself think back to times more pleasant.  
\----- 

Thorin’s third child was conceived during the Night of the Unbound, the first spring festival in the grey mountains. The Night of the Unbound occurred on the last day of a weeklong festival, a holdover from the days of the mighty kingdom of Erebor. Back then such huge celebrations drew dwarves from all over to take part in the festivities. It happened after the first plantings in spring, as a way to celebrate that the world was coming back to life and becoming fertile once more. It was the one time of the year where dwarves who had come of age could have a release from the stresses of life.

All that wished to attend would come before the Ganad Silig, the Unbound Hall, a cavern where light was forbidden entry. Within the hall, anything that came to pass was confined to the darkness and thereafter never spoken of. It was an area with no limitation, although harming others and breaking one’s wedding vows were discouraged. Thorin used this night every year to vent all of his frustrations and physically expressed those emotions he kept bottled up at all other times. It was the one day of the year where he could let go of his responsibilities and just be himself. It was also one of the only times during the year that he, as a single part of royalty, could enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. He had given up on any other brief encounters since he awoke at an inn without a coin left in his purse and with another child in his belly. 

And so it was that, after a great deal of drinking and feasting both outside and within the cavern, that Thorin had his last fruitful escapade. Such rendezvous were not uncommon for dwarves and many of the single father homes were a result of such couplings. The second father of the child was often unknown, although many discovered afterwards who it was and could decide to act upon that knowledge or not in private.

The father of Thorin's third son was a more articulate dwarf than most. They talked much of history and battle tactics before bedding one another. After they had finished, the man had slipped a token into Thorin's boot, so that if Thorin wished to find him afterwards, he could. Thorin himself had not noticed it until the next day when he had gone to put his boots back on and found it crammed into the toe of his shoe.

Upon seeing the beard ornament with its golden coin, he knew which dwarf lord he had spent the night with. If he had not been part of the royal family, he would've worn the thing in his beard and sought the man out. But as things were he could not risk giving away his identity. It had been a purely carnal meeting, after all, and though it might be possible to try to establish a relationship, he would have to tell his father why he wanted to make the union. Since it was forbidden to talk about what happened in the Unbound Hall, it would make the conversation far too difficult. It was a union he was uncertain would've been based around love, either.

To further complicate matters, the man was a dwarf lord who had often been involved in the dealings with outsiders and the man would have to give up his past and take a new identity to become his princess. Giving up one’s name and the honor he had earned for himself was no small thing to ask for a relationship you were uncertain of.

Thorin felt guilt when, on a few occasions thereafter, he caught a glimpse of the kindly dwarf he had met that night, brown eyes always scanning beards on the off chance that his gold coin might show up. A guilt that was only furthered when the fruit of their relations began to swell within him.

When the child was born at last, he looked so alike his other father. Only the child’s high cheekbones and dark eyes appeared anything like Thorin. Knowing that he could not have his brother raise the child as his own this time, he glanced down sadly at the shining bright eyes and round chubby cheeks. This child he would not be able to keep in his life. This child would never know him for what he was.

And so when the child was ready to go to a wet nurse, Thorin sewed in the gold beard ornament and a bead of pure mithril, a symbol of the royal family, into the swaddling of the babe and attached a short note. Then, with his heart heavy, he and Dís watched as a servant of their household left and delivered the child to its father.

When the servant returned he reported that Gloin was overcome with grief and joy, but he understood why he could never know the father of his son face to face. Therefore, he had been thankful that he was blessed to know their child. With tears streaming down his face he had read the note and wished only to returned two lines of his own.

"I will of course keep the name you have suggested, both in honor of you and for the love I bear him. I will love him with all my heart and hope that even if it is from afar, that you may be able to watch him grow into a strong and capable warrior of our line."

Gloin's wish for him did indeed come true and Thorin was able to see his youngest son on occasion. There was one day in particularly when, after a tiring debate about which town they should trade with next, he came home to see all three of his children playing together in the royal common room. Fíli and Kíli were showing Gimli how to swing a wooden axe, teasing him for his lack of precision.

Thorin watched in silence, almost afraid to speak or make his presence known in case it was just Faery magic causing a waking dream. His heart swelled at the sight of what family might have looked like if he had been born as someone else. He walked quietly behind the boys' game, his hand reaching out and landing lightly on Gimli's shoulder. The young boy whipped around in shock and hit Thorin square in the face with his wooden toy.

Fíli and Kíli's eyes went wide in shock and they looked at Gimli for a moment, waiting for Thorin to start yelling. When silence remained for a moment, both boys began to shout, "It was all, Gimli!" And they ran off in two different directions to hide where they could watch the chaos at a distance.

Thorin looked at the scared panting face of the red head. The boy’s eyes were welling with tears and he looked unsure of what to do. Thorin's usual expression bloomed into a smile. "You have quite the arm there, little one." He said, trying to hold back from laughing at the poor boy’s frazzled state.

"Th-thank you, sir," said the boy shyly. "Only, I didn't mean to-"

"Think nothing of it. I might've done the same if someone snuck up behind me," he said, trying to be reassuring and sat down beside him.

"Uncle Thorin's been hit too hard by Gimli! He's gone all queer," cried Kíli

"I better get Da to come make sure it's not permanent, " Fíli call back at him. "If that were us we'd be sent to clean all the forges with not by our handkerchiefs."

"You will do no such thing," boomed Thorin. "Besides, you two would have done it on purpose. Don't think I've forgotten what you mischief makers did last month with my old hammer."

They both looked at each, trying to see if the other had given him up before coming to Thorin's side. "We were just having a little bit of harmless fun!”

Thorin gave each of them a small whack on the back if the head. “Be more careful. Besides, you know you’re not supposed to touch my tools.” He ruffled their hair.

“We have only one course then, Kíli! We must attack while Uncle Thorin’s still being weird!” Fíli shouted, pulling off his leather belt and brandishing it as though it were a sword.

“For the honor of Durin!” Kíli yelled jumping on Thorin’s back and pulling his arms down. “Hurry, Gimli, while I have him occupied!”

Gimli looked up at Thorin with big round eyes, searching for permission to play too. Thorin gave him a smile and a wink.

“Oh no! I’ve been enraged from the mighty blow. You better watch out! Trolls have nasty tempers,” Thorin said in mock angry tones.

“Go for the legs, Gimli! I’ll take care of the head,” cried Fíli, as he whipped Thorin’s arm with the leather belt.

Gimli nodded and started to hit him lightly in the shins with the wood axe. He could almost imagine what it would be like if he could have raised this family on his own.  
\----- 

When the lid came off of his barrel at last, he almost wondered if he had died in that place. The glare of a bright light and the feel of cool fresh air across his face seemed like life was surging back into his body. He let out a groan as he tried to hoist himself out of his confinement, but to no avail. Several more tries to pull himself out on his own failed also; his body would not readily comply after being stuffed into the tight barrel for so long.

His lungs gasped to fill with the less stale air. Noticing his struggle, the hobbit came to his aide and he was pulled upwards and into the freedom of the open world. His legs were so locked by the cramping of his joints, that even after Bilbo had manhandled him out of the blasted barrel, he still found it difficult to move. With help, he managed to fight his way grumbling to shore, even as his knees buckled under him. 

He collapsed onto the shore with another groan of pain and lay there. The cool breeze slapped his wet hood to his shoulder, tassel tangling into his soaked and straw filled beard.

“Well, are you alive or dead?” started the Hobbit, irritably, his nose red and running. “Are you still in prison, or are you free? If you want to go on with this silly adventure-it’s yours after all and not mine-you had better slap your arms and rub your legs and try and help me get the others out while there is a chance!”

He knew how truly they needed to hurry to get the others out of their confinement. After all, Bilbo had given him one of the better barrels and no doubt others might well be worse off than he. He did not want to think of what would be going on in Gloin’s mind after so long in the small dark space. 

And so, with a deep breath and another moan, Thorin slapped his arms and rubbed his legs until he could force his limbs to obey him and stand. 

The work was slow going and difficult. Thorin and Bilbo started by getting Fíli and Kíli out of their barrels. The boys had been the best packed, and other than a few melodramatic complaints from Fíli about the smell of apples, they came out no worse for wear. They even seemed to have enjoyed the experience.

With the two young dwarves helping, they were able to free the rest of the company. Thorin had made sure they freed Gloin next for fear of the state he may be in, and indeed, he was barely in his mind, having tried to keep himself together for so long. Thorin was just glad to see him alive.

So many in their party fared just as poorly. Some were unconscious or concussed. Others were half drowned and disoriented. And all of them were starving once more. Regardless of these conditions however, Thorin was grateful they had all managed to escape alive and felt gratitude towards Bilbo once more. There was faith yet and perhaps even luck so long as Bilbo remained with them. When there was time he would have to give a proper gift of thanks to the little fellow.

It was determined, with the Hobbit’s reconnaissance during their capture and escape, that Laketown would be their best, and only, course forward. So Bilbo, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli headed to the gate of the town, leaving the rest to recover by the shore. With good fortune on their side, Thorin felt within him his old strength growing. He looked to the little hobbit for a moment as they went, amazed by how many graces such a small creature could possess. He could almost kiss him out of sheer joy.

As they marched forward Thorin’s will strengthened too. This quest was his family’s legacy. It was the fate of his people. They had all suffered too long under the shadow of the past and it was up to them to slay the dragon and reclaim all that had been snatched away from them.

He burst forward into the gate, startling the guards from their drink by the fire. One stumbled up to his feet, grabbing for his helm and sword clumsily. “Who are you and what do you want?” 

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the mountain!” It came loud and clear and deep from his throat, and for the first time in a seeming eternity, he felt like the heir of his line he was born to be. “I have come back. I wish to see the Master of your town!”

The guards, still scrambling to get their weapons, called for their captain, who stepped forward more confidentially, examining the four of them. “And who are these?” He gestured at the other three.

“The sons of my father’s daughter. Fíli and Kíli of the race of Durin, and Mr. Baggins, who has travelled with us out of the West!” replied Thorin.

The captain seemed satisfied. “If you come in peace lay down your arms.”

“We have none. We have no need of weapons, who return at last to our own as spoken of old. Nor could we fight against so many.” Thorin drew back his cloak, revealing nothing on his belt, and bid Fíli and Kíli to do the same. “Take us to your master!”

There was much chatter among the guard. “He is at feast.”

Just as Thorin was about to open his mouth, Fíli pushed forward impatiently. “Then all the more reason for taking us to him. We are worn and famished after our long road and we have sick comrades. Now make haste and let us have no more words, or your master may have something to say to you.”

Thorin said nothing of this interruption and even felt a swell of pride in Fíli’s abrupt but apt speech. He was going to be a great King when the time came.

The captain was taken aback, but seemed to realize the situation was more important than he had first thought. “Follow me then.”

With an escort of the captain and six men they walked through the town. Men of the lake stopped what they were doing and looked on in amazement. It was clear from the wide eyes and awed expressions that few if any had seen a dwarf before. Whispering about the return of Dwarves started in the streets and Thorin hoped it might help their cause. All they had to do now was to get aide the Master. It was not the first time he had been sent ahead to request aide for his kin, but he hoped it would go better than the last.  
\----- 

Thorin heard a loud snap. He turned to see that a cart’s wheel had gotten stuck on a rock and the pony pulling it had managed to crack the wood that kept the cart attached to its bridal. He ran to help lift the weight off the back of the cart as the coachman got the pony to cease its pulling. He motioned for the help of two others nearby to get the weight off before any permanent damage was done.

“Halt the caravan!” he called towards Frerin, who gave the signal for all to stop.

After they managed to get the wheel up over the rock, they set to repairing what they could on the cart. If the terrain continued to be so severe they would no doubt need to replace every wheel. It had been bad enough that the dragon had decimated their Kingdom, but now to face the road made it seem as though there was no end to their suffering. 

Thorin pushed a braid from where it was matted to his dust and sweat coated face. The fact it had only been two weeks since they had fled Erebor only made the harshness of life on the road worse. Dís had come down with a fever the third day on the road and their procession had been slowed for the sake of his health. None of their line was prepared to lose another family member.

But sick dwarves were not the greatest of their struggles on the journey. They had among them a great many wounded. Those who were not physically inflicted were in various states of emotional and mental injury. Many were both. Within the few hundred of them who had managed to escape, there were only five healers amongst them. Of those five, two were apprentices and one had lost half his vision in the attack. It meant that only the worst afflicted could be tended to regularly and even with shift rotations, many were left to care for themselves.

Food and water were also scarce and so those well enough to do work went in shifts to guard the caravan or to hunt. The journey was slow and quiet, anguished cries and tears had long since been replaced with cold silence. The great people of Erebor, greatest ally of all around, were now reduced to begging for what little they could.

A hand slapped him on his shoulder. “Are you ready to leave then?” 

“Is it that time already, Frerin?” he asked, turning to face his brother.

“It is,“ replied Frerin with a grin.

“Then I am ready.”

“Let us get going then!”  
\----- 

The elves at the Master’s feast made quite a fuss over the appearance of Thorin and his kin. They had rushed from the back of the hall to the Master’s table with various cries of, “Prisoners of our King!” and “Sneaking through the woods!” and “Molesting our people!” Thorin only caught bits of what was being said over the cacophony of voices.

Finally the Master pushed through some of the crowd around him to ask, “Is this true?”

“It is true that we were wrongfully waylaid by the Elvenking and imprisoned without cause as we journeyed back to our own land. But neither lock nor bar may hinder the homecoming spoken of old. Nor is this town in the Wood-elves’ realm. I speak to the Master of the town of the Men of the Lake, not to the raft-men of the King.” He replied coolly.

The Elves present gave renewed cries at what they felt was a grave insult and Fíli and Kíli began to shout back at them, both sides headed towards blows. The Master looked back and forth. But soon the voices of the men and the notes of instruments filled the hall from inside and out. It was the song of the prophecy. A song older than either Fíli or Kíli would know, and one he doubted their burglar would know either.

As more took up the tune, the elves began to look frightened. Speaking in hushed tones of their own language, they left Thorin and his comrades be, disappearing into the crowd. The Master was also moved by the action of those around him. Swayed by the will of the people, he bade Thorin, Bilbo, Fíli, and Kíli sit at the high table and he gave his own seat to Thorin.

Thorin felt like things were finally looking up. This was the type of treatment their company deserved. It felt like the receptions he and his family use to get when they traveled to Dale so many decades ago. 

After a good deal of eating, drinking, and promises made from the Lakemen, they were given a large house within the town. Boats and rowers were set to their service, and the rest of the company was escorted into town with a large parade. The whole company grew steadily healthy and confident in their newfound fame. Everywhere they went, throngs of people singing songs of prophecy and of praise followed them. 

But all the cheer only reminded Thorin of the parades before the Battle of Azanulbizar. The terrible battle had claimed the lives of so many of his kin, including Frerin. What he wouldn’t do to be able to go back to the time before the battle and try to keep his brother from taking up arms. Not that his headstrong brother would’ve listened, but if he had just had the chance to tell Frerin even a few small things. To let him know how much he was loved. That despite the argument they had had the morning before, he would always love him regardless of the things he might say.

An ache hit him hard from deep within his chest. What if something should happen in the upcoming battle against Smaug and Fíli and Kíli never knew the truth? They were some of the only family he had left, after all.

He wasn’t sure why the truth should matter. It hadn’t ever mattered before. So why should such a thought affect him? It was strange how deeply hurt he was by the thought. It was not that he had not contemplated before about if he should tell them the truth, he had. But he had decided against it. They had no need to know. If anything, it would only complicate things between them. They had such a good family life. And he was satisfied enough with the role he played in their lives, wasn’t he? The dutiful uncle wasn’t such a bad role. He was still able to care for them.

But it was not the same, was it? The voice of doubt in his mind loomed large. It twisted at his insides to think that any of them should die without the truth coming to light. 

Before a battle was no time to be having wavering emotions, however. He steeled himself against the thoughts and tried to concentrate instead on what still needed to be done before they departed.

But the more he tried to ignore it, the more his mind came back to it. Slowly it began to eat at him that they wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t know how much love he bore them. They wouldn’t know how much he would’ve given up just to change the way things had been. How much he had wanted to be the one to take care of all of their needs. He was becoming dizzy with the racing thoughts of how much he resented the past. They should’ve been his to raise! Damn the traditions that forced him so far from his sons!

He turned as he felt something tug at his sleeve and was met with the startled face of Bilbo, whose eyes widened when he saw the look on Thorin’s face.

“Perhaps it can wait until later,” the hobbit said about to make a retreat.

“What can wait?” asked Thorin, his voice sounding harsher than he had meant it to.

“It’s just, you’ve been looking so glum as of late. Just now I was worried you might do something… rash.”

“I have a lot on my mind. I am sorry, Mr. Baggins, if I gave you any worry. One can not but help to think of the next hurdle of our task.”

Bilbo smiled at him sheepishly. “I thought that may be the case. I wanted only to impart a small suggestion, if I may, one that has always worked for me when I am trying to sort out particularly difficult or troublesome thoughts.”

“I am listening.”

“Have you ever tried writing things down? I find sometimes if I write it all out, I am able to look at the problem more objectively. Sometimes just having written down a painful thought or bothersome task is enough to free me of the weight of it,” Bilbo said with a small smile.

Thorin returned the smile as best as he could. “Thank you. Perhaps something as simple as that would be of use.”

Bilbo reached into a pouch and produced a couple of sheets of warped parchment. “I’m afraid they got a little warped from their time in the river, but they say the Shire has some of the best paper.”

“Mr. Baggins, I couldn’t possibly—“

Bilbo waved his hands about wildly. “No, I’ve given it to you now. You would think by now that you dwarves would’ve learned that hobbits are very particular. It would be rude to return a gift. Besides, you have become a dear friend during our travels and I’ve had no opportunity to express my gratitude.”

“Not so dear as you have been to my kin and I. You are the great asset to us our quest,” Thorin replied, running his hand over the fine grain of the parchment.

“Well, once a hobbit agrees to do something, he is going to follow it through to the end. I told you I would help you reclaim your own, Thorin Oakenshield, and I intend to keep my word. And I would never betray one I gave my word to.”

Thorin felt deeply touched; both by the gift and by such strong words. He was embarrassed that he had, as of yet, nothing to give in return. He needed to show some measure of thanks regardless. He reached out, compelled to touch the small fellow’s shoulder, but Bifur and Bofur came in to collect the weapons Thorin had selected, and so his hand fell back to his side.

When he returned to his room in the mansion that night, he decided to set ink to paper. First was his letter to Fíli. Fíli had always been more hotheaded than his brother and so wording the letter was more difficult. Then he wrote his letter to Kíli. Both letters contained his wish that he could have raised them himself and how proud of their accomplishments he was. He wrote of how duty had forced him to pass on his fathering responsibilities to Dís and that even to this day, there was only a couple of people who knew the truth. He ended both with hope that they could understand why he and Dís had lied and that maybe in time they could come to forgive them.

After Thorin signed each one, he sealed both letters with his ring and carefully wrote each of their names in Khuzdul. Tucking the letters into the pocket of his coat, he headed to bed.  
\----- 

After another couple of days, Thorin decided they should head out to the mountain, for they had all recovered and he did not wish to lose favor with the men there. Besides, it was beginning to get on in the year now and they still had to make it over the open land to the mountain.

When he spoke to the Master of their plans, the man was very gracious and said, “Certainly, O Thorin, Thráin’s son, Thrór’s son! You must claim your own. The hour is at hand, spoken of old. What help we can offer you shall be yours, and we trust to your gratitude when your kingdom is regained”

“You have my word, Master of the town of the men of the lake. You can expect we will find ourselves trading wealth and crafts for your good supplies as soon as we have done so.”

And so, with boats loaded down with finely dressed dwarves and supplies aplenty, the company set off across the Long Lake and towards the Running River, where they would meet with their horses and further provisions. The cold winds chilled them through their fine layers as they went and doubt began to creepy into Thorin’s mind. He knew that he must do this. And yet, he could not help but feel apprehension as the dark mountain grew before them. The rest of the company was growing grim as they approached.

The journey by pony was not much better than the boat and trepidation soon stirred within them all. They saw no dangers as they traveled northwest to the closer slope of the Mountain. Everyone, it seemed, had lost his usual cheerfulness. They spent many quiet days creeping slowly ever upward, not wanting to risk alerting the dragon or any other foul beasts to their presence. Unbidden memories of the horrors that befell his people came to his mind and he spent all his waking hours ignoring them.

The land around them grew more desolate and bare, nothing having grown in the wake of the dragon’s destruction. The only thing they ever found was the blackened stumps of once great trees or fragments of splintered bones. Thorin could remember how rich and green this place had been. It hurt his heart to see that even after so long, the bright colors of the land had not returned. He spoke in hushed tones of its former beauty with Bilbo when he asked what might have been there.

They set up camp on a peak at the end of the first stretch of their climb, a place once called Ravenhill. They made camp beneath the old watchtower, but not a one of them dared to enter it. There was an ominous aura to the tower which none dare disturb.

There had been a song of this place once, back when it was lush and the ravens nested around to speak with the Dwarves. But the words were all lost to him. So instead he softly hummed the bits of melody he could remember as they pitched the tents for the evening. He soon noticed that Dwalin had taken up the tune as well. They shared a small smile.

Then gathering the company together, Thorin announced that they would start scouting out the area in the morning to search for the hidden door. He chose Balin, Fíli, Kíli, and their good luck charm, Mr. Baggins, for the party. Then he made a rotation of pairs for the night’s watch. There was too much uncertainty for only one person on watch at this time and he hoped pairs would help to keep up morale too.

While the company sat around the fire eating their meal, Thorin kept one hand in his pocket on the letters. He had felt relief at having written them, but now he feared what should happen if they were discovered. Would the boys read it and be happy to know the truth? Would they be ashamed? Would they laugh? Or maybe they would never speak to him again. 

He looked at the two of them sitting together by the fire. Would they be able to understand why he was unable to tell them? Fíli’s eyes met his and he looked away. 

He let go of the letters. After Balin returned from scouting tomorrow he would leave them in his care. Balin was one of his oldest and closest friends and he could trust him to deliver the letters on his word. Perhaps it would be best if he waited until after the battle. That way if the boys took it poorly, there would be plenty of distractions. Plus, he’d have Dís with him again to help explain. Dís was always better at these sensitive subjects. Yes, it was decided, he would give them to Balin tomorrow.

“He’s gettin’ so big now!” came Gloin’s voice clear from across the campfire. “Why, just last month he tried on mah old helmet and it nearly fit ‘im!”

“Sounds more like wishful thinking. Didn’t you tell us this same thing last year?” Asked Bofur, winking at Bilbo, who hid his smile under his hand.

“No, no, no. That was my gloves!” protested Gloin adamantly. 

“Close enough,” interjected Bombur, “wait until you’ve had two or three more little ones and you’ll stop worrying so much about all that.”

Gloin turned to his brother. “You’re proud of ‘im, right?”

“Aye,” said Oin with a big smile. “Even more proud of ‘im than I was of you at that age.”

Thorin sighed. It stung to know he could never openly participate in that happiness. He watched how brightly Gloin’s face lit up as he talked about contests won and axes forged. At least Thorin could be content that he was able to give Gloin something that brought him so much happiness.

Gloin waved him off another derisive comment of Bofur’s, continuing as if he hadn’t heard it. “You know, right before I left, he comes up to me with a grin on his face and tells me, ‘Papa, I am gonna go with you on this quest’. And I says to him—“ 

“Yah told us this ‘ne before!” Grumbled Nori

All those listening laughed heartily, but all Thorin could do was watch silently, brooding over how much he wanted to tell Gloin that he understood and was proud too. 

He felt a heavy hand upon his back and turned to see that it was Dwalin’s. He turned back to the fire and let himself relax into the touch. Dwalin was the only person other than Frerin who could ever soothe him, just by giving him a small touch. He let body relax and drift off into a light sleep.  
\----- 

“Who approaches!” called the guard from other side of the river. The bridge had been raised and there was no other approach to the castle of the Elvenking.

“I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain! And with me is my father’s second son, called Frerin. We come baring a missive for your King, requesting aide for our people in their time of need!”

“You will stay there and I shall have your message taken to our King and a reply will come when he has one for you,” came the response.

“I have been given explicit instructions to hand-deliver it to his majesty, “ Thorin called across the water.

“He is in council already. We have our hands full with helping the displaced people of Dale, our kin amongst them. I warn you that there may be nothing which our King can offer you at this time.”

Thorin gritted his teeth, his hand reaching for his throwing axes. As soon as he moved, he saw from the corner of his eye, Frerin unsnapping his throwing axe case and starting to pull one from its sheath. The guard moved his hand to the fletching of an arrow in his quiver.

Thorin realized that he had better resolve things before they got out of hand. He was sent here as a messenger, not to start a war. He took his hand from his axe and placed it on Frerin’s forearm, shaking his head. Frerin grudgingly returned his axe to its place and the guard let his hand fall in turn.

“I apologize for my brother’s temper, but it is only because the situation is so dire. We must speak with your King as soon as it is possible! We have many injured and dying amongst us and all of us are in need of food and water!”

“Wait there. I will send word of your arrival.” With that, he headed inside.

“Great. Some real diplomacy we have here,” said Frerin sarcastically.

“Give it some time, my brother. I am as anxious as you are to see us complete our task, but these things are delicate.” It took all his strength not to let his own anger rise, but focusing on keeping Frerin in line was a strangely good distraction.

Just as the younger dwarf was opening his mouth to speak again, there were high voices talking quickly behind them. “Alae, hir vuin. Cenin tad noeg uin Erebor.”

“Prestad, hir vuin?”

“U-iston. Ach dan sa noeg iston”

Thorin turned. That last voice was familiar to him. One of three elves approached him. All were dressed from head to toe in light armor of brown leather and gold, with bows and quivers to match, upon their backs. Of the two who remained, one had jet-black hair and was carrying the carcass of a large buck. The other, a redhead, had three rabbits and a pheasant. As he looked to the one who had approached, he instantly recognized the man’s face. 

“Lord Thorin! And young Lord Frerin! This is quite the surprise. Why, from what we had heard from the men of Dale, we had not expected any of your kin to have survived.”

He nodded. “Barely a couple hundred of us have managed to escape in this direction. There may be others, but we have found none along the road.”

The red-haired elf from the hunting party approached. “My lord, it is worse than we had hoped, but better than we feared. ” 

She turned her tanned face towards Thorin and he admired the way her long rust colored hair, more like his folk than he had seen before on an elf, swept out behind her. “Where are the rest of your kin now?”

“Less than three days behind us. We have a request for your King, but they say he’s indisposed,” said Frerin, grumpily.

“That, I’m afraid, is true,” replied Legolas. “He has been in meetings all morning with the men of Dale. I admit there is little that we can offer in the way of help, however.” 

“Hir vuin,” started the redhead.

The two elves exchanged looks as though they were speaking without words. They seemed to come to an agreement. 

Legolas motioned them forward. “You two will come in with us. You can have a meal while you wait and you must tell me of what has occurred.” 

“Of course,” Thorin said, inclining his head. 

The one with black hair spoke some Elven words and the bridge appeared. With his brother right behind him, Thorin followed his hosts across the river and into the palace. Frerin stayed close by his side as they entered, his hand grasping the edge of Thorin’s tunic. 

“There is nothing to fear in these walls, my brother. We are amongst friends.”

“That was not the impression I got from the gate,” came the sulky reply by his side.

“If they truly intended to harm us, there would be nothing we could do. Elves are mighty warriors to start, but I hear that the very walls of this place are filled with enchantment and bend to the will of the King. He is an elf of great power, as you know, give him no reason to wish us ill.”

“It is quite true, what your lord says,” interjected the female elf, “I have even heard that those bearing our king ill will are unable to pass beyond the front gate. Instead, the vines growing upon the walls ensnare them and the very breath of their life is crushed from their bodies. But you need only to relax. We will keep you safe.”

This only served to further aggravate the young dwarf. “There is no reassurance for me in those words.”

“Then just remain silent by my side. Take comfort that we are going together.”

“Small comfort.” Frerin snorted. “But I am glad for it.” He continued under his breath.

Thorin smiled to himself. It had always been like this, Frerin trying to hide his fear with sarcasm. If they weren’t in the company of elves he would’ve ruffled his brother’s hair, just to see him smile, after he whined, of course.

They were soon brought to one of the banquet halls, for the Woodland Realm had many, each meticulously adorned to match the season. They were given a large spread of roasted game, quail, venison, and pigeon; along with herb bread, dried fruits, and tall glasses of elderberry and woodruff wine. 

As they ate, the prince and his female companion asked after their people. Thorin and Frerin explained all that had happened from the quake of the earth before the dragon appeared, to their troubles with the guard. Their hosts were attentive throughout and his brother seemed a little more at ease, although he would never care to admit it.

The dark haired elf from earlier came and he and Legolas spoke briefly in hushed tones. Thorin couldn’t make out a word of it, as it was in elvish, so there was little he could learn.

The prince and his companion turned back to the table. “It seems my father has concluded his meeting. Take a while to rest here while I let him know your situation. Quarters have been prepared for the both of you. Belerond will show you the way when you have finished eating. If you will excuse me, I must take my leave. It was good to see you again, Lord Thorin. Lord Frerin, I am much relieved that you both survived unharmed.” And with that, he was gone.

Frerin placed a hand on Thorin’s under the table to let him know he was there with him and Thorin was more than glad for it.  
\----- 

Frerin had stayed with Thorin after they went back to their rooms in the palace of the Woodland Realm. Although they were together, the time was spent mostly in silence. Thorin didn’t mind the quiet, however, he was deep in thought. He needed to make his appeal for aid as genuine as possible, while remaining calm. When he felt passionate about a topic, his emotions tended to get the better of him. That was not a luxury his people could afford for him to make.

He glanced over to Frerin, who was flipping through a book of botanical illustrations from the previous age. Perhaps it would be best if he had the young dwarf wait outside while he had his audience with the King. 

Frerin caught his look and frowned. “What’s got you so nervous?”

“I am not nervous.”

Frerin snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

Thorin decided to ignore the comment and turned back to his thoughts, only to be interrupted again.

“It’s funny you say that though, ‘cause you’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing you do when you get nervous.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to frown. “What thing I do when I’m nervous?” 

Frerin huffed and rolled his eyes. “The mouth thing!”

“What are you talking about? What mouth thing?” Thorin asked less than amused

“You chew up your cheek,” said Frerin as if it was a fact the whole of Middle Earth knew.

“I do not.” 

Frerin shrugged again. “Figures a big mean brother like you wouldn’t even know you do it.”

“I am not mean,” Thorin said flatly, then pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and tasted the slight tang of blood. Wait, he did do it. How long had he been doing it? How did he not know? 

The brothers exchanged looks. “I’m sorry, Frerin. This is just a very stressful time.”

Frerin set the book down and came over to Thorin. “Sorry I called you mean. Forgive your most precious little brother?”

“Dis has done nothing that needs forgiveness for,” Thorin said smugly.

“I take it back, you are a big Meany,” Frerin said, punching Thorin lightly on the shoulder and then tugging on his braids.

Thorin smiled and tugged Frerin’s braids in return. “But you love me anyhow.”

“Only cause I have to,” Frerin joked.

A knock came at the door.

“Yes? Come in.”

A guard opened the door and Legolas stepped inside. “My father is ready to see you now.”

Thorin and Frerin both turned. “Shall we--“

“I’m afraid,” Legolas cut in, “that he will only speak to you, Lord Thorin. In private. Your brother must remain in quarters for the time being.”

“Very well.” Frerin said disappointedly, keeping his eyes on Thorin and slowly sinking back into his seat.

Thorin followed behind Legolas and the guard through the long corridors, until at last they came to a carved oak door where they stopped.

“It is right through here. When you are done, you will return to your quarters. If you need any assistance finding your way, the guard here should be able to escort you.” Legolas inclined his head.

“Thank you, Prince Legolas,” he said, returning the gesture.

He took a second to clear his thoughts and take a deep breath. He was assigned this task because his father and grandfather believed in him and the King he would someday make. This was practice for what he would do one day on his own. It should be simple enough. Deliver the message, explain the situation, and await the King’s decision. 

“It is unlocked,” Legolas prompted “Best not to keep my father waiting.”

Thorin’s hand grasped the thin golden handle of the door and lingered for a moment longer, he ran his thumb over the ivy pattern carved into the smooth elk ivory, he willed strength into his arm and turned the handle. 

Quietly, he stepped forward into the dimly lit room. He had always hated that the king’s throne room was so dark, but the elves seemed to prefer natural light or the captured light of stars. This deep into the mountain palace there was little natural light to be found and the star’s power was diminished so far beneath ground. 

The sound of his boots against the wood echoed in the otherwise silent hall. He approached the carved chair at the end of the hall with the sound of his racing heart in his ears.

In the pale light of the candles he could vaguely make out that the chair sat empty. Perhaps the King had not yet arrived? He was certainly busy if all Thorin had heard were true. 

He waited for a moment in front of the chair, uncertain what to do. 

Finally he let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing in the empty room.

“May I bring you a glass of wine?” came a voice that seemed to come from inside of his own head. 

He spun on his feet, looking to either side of him in the direction of where he though the voice might have come. But there was no one there.

“Hello? I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain. I come with a message for the King of the Woodland Realm.”

There was a low chuckle and a robed figure stepped out from a door behind the chair, and sipped from a tall slender glass. “I know who you are and why you are here, Thorin, Thráin’s son.” And although he saw the figure across from him, it still seemed as if the voice came from within his head, like he were imagining it.

“Then you know my purpose in coming to see you?” Thorin called, still unsettled by the exchange.

“Of course.” The figure stepped forward. “Might I get you some wine?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Thorin said simply and attempted to relax once more.

As the figure grew closer he realized it was indeed the king. 

“Legolas has told me much of your people’s suffering.” Thorin felt relief when the voice was coming from Thranduil once more.

“Yes.”

Thranduil went to a table near where Thorin stood and poured a glass and refilled his own. “ My condolences on the death of your mother, Princess Dorin, she was a wise and noble woman. Her skill in diplomacy was legendary.” 

Thorin swallowed hard. He had been trying not to think about that. He accepted the glass of wine handed to him, but said nothing.

“Let us drink to her memory then.” Thranduil said and raised his glass

Thorin nodded and raised his own. They clinked the intricately blown glasses and both of them emptied half their drinks in one gulp.

“To get down to business, I am told your message is for my eyes only. We are alone now, may I have the missive?”

“Of course.” He pulled the scroll out of its leather case by his side and placed it in the outstretched fingers. The King went and sat upon his throne as he read it over in silence. 

”My grandfather asks for shelter and supplies for our people. Any assistance you could provide in healing our sick and injured or in materials for housing, would also be welcomed.” Thorin said, then waited patiently as he could for the man to finish. 

When Thranduil was done, he placed a hand over his eyes. “And your people will be arriving within the next couple of days?”

“Yes, about three days from now, your majesty.”

“Please let your King know that we have spent much of what we had on the survivors of Dale and have less than we should like for our own people in our stores. Winter is fast approaching and I cannot risk the starvation of my own people, even for such a noble goal. We can provide some small services of healing and some weapons perhaps, but there is not much else we can do at this time.”

“Please, your majesty. The situation is dire. Even Dis, my father’s daughter, has been ill from the conditions on the road. We set off from Erebor with nearly 350 and now we have lost near a hundred of those.” Thorin tried to keep hints of desperation from his voice, but his vocal cords were straining. To have come this far and to get so little… without help they surely couldn’t survive. He could hear the twist of anxiety in his own voice and he cursed it.

“So I have heard from my son,” the King replied flatly. “And while it is a tragedy that I wish had not come to pass, there is not much we can do.” 

Then something came to him. “You once said,” Thorin began, but then stopped. 

“Yes, child?” prompted Thranduil wearily.

“It was but a dream, but you once said that should I ever be in need, you would assist me.”

There was a look of shock on the pale face and the King took a deep breath. “That was a dream that I had thought you would have forgotten.” He let out his breath very slowly. “This world is full of many things we wish would could take back, young one. Events which should not have come to pass. Events that we wish we could have altered in some way. But there is no going back once it has happened; only moving forward. A dream is fleeting and sometimes it seems very real, but it is not. It is just a vision, nothing more.”

“But—“

“Thorin!” The voice was filled with something darker, the usually beautiful and calm face was twisted and the candlelight cast treacherous shadows around the room that seemed to jump and move on their own. “I have not thought again of that and neither should have you. It was a passing fancy brought on by consumption of far too much of your father’s wine. Now if you’ll exc—“

“But, you gave your wor—“

“We are done here.”

“If you have ever felt anything, even in the slightest, for my life, please, promise me you will provide us something!”

“Thorin! It is true that in a moment of regret I gave you my word for aide. But I have my own people to worry about. Their lives, the lives of the men of Dale, and now your people, are all in my hands. If I give your people all that they need, my own may starve.”

“You gave your word!”

“As a future king, I would have thought you would know that your first duty is always to the survival of your people!”

“What do you think I am trying to do?! My people are dying and you offer the only chance of survival.”

“I can not trade my own people’s lives for those of yours.”

“You promised me! Does the word of a king mean so little in this land?!”

There was a long silence in which neither spoke or moved.

Finally the King uncrossed his legs and rose. “You can tell King Thrór and Prince Thráin that I should like to speak with them directly about what can be provided. I will see what kind of arrangement can be made for your people. I will not speak with you further on this matter. This is the only compromise I can give you. Now take your leave and do not show yourself in front of me again so long as you live.”

Thorin felt a mix of emotions swelling within him and almost forgot to speak. “Thank you, your majesty. We are grateful for anything you can provide.“ He replied in a small voice.

“You are dismissed.”

He left the room feeling hollow inside. He had known, of course, that it was something that had happened in the heat of the moment and had been the fault of the drink. But he had not expected that it would have meant so little. He felt used. It was true that he had been the one to make the first move but that didn’t mean that the gesture was not returned. Was this how elves truly were? So much for a people who appreciated all living things. He should have known better!

He should be celebrating, right now. After all, he had managed to receive the King’s word that some aid would be given to their people and he had opened up negotiations with his father and grandfather, whose golden tongues would no doubt get them what they needed. Surely that should count as a better outcome than he could have received. But the knot of pain that twisted in his side remained.

“Follow me, Lord Thorin. Your room is this way.” The guard said without looking to him as he left the hall.

Thorin wasn’t sure if he wanted more to be with Frerin, where he could distract himself from what had occurred, or if he would rather be alone, where no one could see him feeling so low. Maybe if he just went into Frerin’s room and slept for a little while, he would be able to forget all of what had happened. Maybe it would turn out that all of this really was a dream, and he would soon wake up back in Erebor, hung over in his room with Frerin teasing him and Dís curling up beside him until he had to get dressed and meet guests.

The door to his room was opened and he was ushered inside.

“You’re back sooner than I—Thorin! What has happened?” Frerin was on his feet and had his hands on Thorin’s arms. “I swear, Elf, if you or yours has hurt him in any way!”

“Watch your tongue, Dwarf! I merely showed him the way back. If you have any problems with his condition, I suggest you take care of him yourself.” The guard slammed the door shut.

“Thorin! Were you hurt? Did he refuse to see you?”

Thorin shook his head. “It seems the guard at the gate was right, there is little the elves are able to give to us. The King… wishes to speak to father and grandfather about it. We have opened negotiations and a chance to plead our case. Now please, let me sleep,” he replied, moving towards the sprawling canopy bed.

But his brother followed him to the bed. “What else?”

“Let me sleep, Frerin.”

“There is something wrong, Thorin! I know you.”

“Please!”

Frerin shut his mouth and helped as Thorin removed his armor and boots and got into bed.

Thorin closed his eyes and tried to think of cheerful memories, ignoring the sounds of his brother moving about the room. But all his thoughts came back to those he had lost. So many of his friends and family back home. His Da. He felt cold in this palace. There had been so many times he had visited with his family, staying in these very quarters.

The mattress shifted and Thorin opened his eyes and turned to see Frerin getting into the bed beside him. “Can I?”

Thorin nodded at him and turned onto his side.

Frerin wrapped his arms around Thorin, but did not say a thing. He could feel his worries slip away just a little knowing that his brother was there with him.

“Thank you,” Thorin whispered.

“Sure. You use to do the same for me when I was upset. Now just let your big brother handle everything,” said Frerin, in what Thorin thought was a poor impression of his own voice.

“I do not sound like that,” muttered Thorin, a smile starting to form on his face.

Frerin chuckled and held up the pendant around his neck. It was the protect charm that Thorin had made him years ago on his name day. He hadn’t realized that Frerin wore it except on formal occasions.

“You’re always making sure that I’m safe and taken care of. Now for once, stop complaining and let me take care of you.”

Thorin leaned back and batted playfully at his brother’s beard. Then, without any more words, he settled back into the covers.

Small, callused fingers stroked his hair and he fell into a deep sleep to the sound of his brother’s gentle breath in his ear.  
\----- 

Thorin felt a mix of emotions now. They had managed to make it to Smaug’s horde without the beast at home, but how long might that last? The hobbit’s quick thinking and courage had saved them from dragon fire and for that there was much to celebrate. The company’s relief was evident as they began grabbing up instruments and filling the halls with music. He himself picked up a lap-harp. It had a body made of fine oak covered in gold leaf and studded with emeralds and topaz. The strings were spun gold and had clearly been enchanted as the other instruments, for he found as he plucked a couple of the fine strings, that it was yet in tune.

He allowed himself some time to enjoy the merriment. It felt good to have the strings beneath his fingers. How long, he wondered, had it been since they had been sitting in Mr. Baggins' home and playing merrily like this? Although he had had many doubts about the small fellow, Bilbo had certainly proved himself. He was queer in his own hobbit-ish ways, of course, but Thorin thought of him more as kin than as a hired burglar. A hole inside of him seemed to be filled by the little fellow. It was also filled with the support of the assembled company and the feeling of finally being home.

And yet, he could not shake the nagging sense that something was missing. Something far more valued that golden harps or suits of armor. At first he wasn’t sure. But as he picked through some nearby treasures he started to remember. There was a stone that his grandfather had treasured highly. It was such a beautiful gem. And large, too. Surely it must have caught the attention of that gluttonous dragon. But he had bigger priorities right now. They needed to find food and armaments. He could tell by the look on Mr. Baggins' face that he was yet anxious about the dragon and Dori kept jumping at any sound and muttering about fire.

When it was clear there would be no food stored about he gave the order, “Let us gather arms and armaments!”

A great cheer went up among the company as they all began to dive into the piles of treasure, pulling out everything they could find.

As they went along choosing armor, Thorin kept sweeping his eyes over the horde, looking for any shine from that brilliant stone.

Then as he was tightening his ruby and garnet set belt over his golden armor, a glint did catch his eye and he remembered something he had meant to do. Taking up the light garment and nearby items in hand he made his way over to where Bilbo was helping Balin adjust a buckle on a silver gauntlet.

“Mr. Baggins!” he called as he approached, “Here is the first payment of your reward!”

The small face looked at the shining silver things in his hand without comprehension.

“Cast off your old coat and put on this!” he called again, a satisfied grin coming to his lips.

Bilbo’s mouth opened and closed.

Thorin stared back at him, the small coat of mail in his outstretched hand. “It is only right after you made me such a handsome gift earlier.”

“But surely—“

“I will not hear it! Come, I will assist you.”

With Thorin’s help Bilbo put on the suit of mail, a pearl and crystal belt, and a leather helm set with white gems. Thorin stood back and admired the way it fit the hobbit so neatly. It was obviously made for some elf princeling ages ago, and in his opinion, Bilbo had never looked more handsome. Even if the fellow kept a perturbed look upon his pump face.

If they both survived this ordeal, he would give his burglar a grand title. He would give him a title of dwarf nobility. Or perhaps he would have a new title created. A title that would reflect the gravity of the deeds Bilbo had accomplished for their people. It amazed him that someone who did not know them would give so very much to help. It warmed his heart to think that there were still such people in this world. No doubt such an example would be good for Fíli and Kíli to witness. Hopefully Erebor would grow back into the rich and welcoming kingdom of yore.

With a small smile and a nod, he left Bilbo to rejoin the others in gathering supplies from the horde, one eye still on the lookout for the brilliant white stone. When Thorin came upon a child’s axe, made of gold, he remembered the one Balin had had when he was a child. He had wanted to give Fíli and Kíli such toys when they were young, but at the time he had only been able to provide wooden ones. He had been traveling a lot at the time and had only had the time to carve them in wood instead of forging them proper practice weapons.

He reached into his coat pocket to feel for the letters but they were gone. Where had they ended up? He thought back to the peril at the door when Smaug had come upon them. He could have lost them then. Or maybe while they scrambled around in the darkness of the tunnel? Why, they could be anywhere by now.

He bit his lip. Once they had secured the mountain and dealt with the dragon he would go back and search for the letters. He had to make sure they were safe and in the right hands. If only he had remembered to give them to Balin after the scouting mission. But of course, there had been so much excitement between the door and the dragon he had completely forgotten.

“Thorin!” came the distant cry.

He turned towards the voice and saw Bilbo coming towards him.

“What’s next? We are armed, but what good has any armour ever been before against Smaug the Dreadful? This treasure is not yet won back. We are not looking for gold yet. But for a way of escape; and we have tempted luck too long.”

Coming back from his darker thoughts Thorin nodded. “You speak the truth! Let us go! I will guide you.” He turned with a knowing smile and headed in the direction of a familiar stairway. “Not in a thousand years should I forget the ways of this palace.”

His confidence returning he glanced back over his shoulder to the others. “We’re moving out! Let us head towards the front gate.” The rest of the company grabbed the last of their things and everyone put their old cloaks over their armor as they headed up. He kept Bilbo close by him, for the hobbit had a way of sensing when danger was about.

As they climbed the stairs Thorin breathed in the old smells of the halls. He felt the solid living stone under his boots. Even in the dim torchlight he remembered every inch of carved stone. Every once and a while he was distracted by the sounds of Bilbo’s struggle to keep up. If he could’ve carried the poor fellow, he would have done so. It was clear the stairs were spaced too greatly for his small size to easily maneuver. If they only had the time to stop for a moment and let Bilbo get his breath. But alas, there was still a long way to go and they had not the food to last long in this place.

Each time they passed another room or hall, Thorin would announce what it had been. Mostly he did this to satisfy Bilbo’s curiosity, but also for the many dwarves of his company who had not been alive until after the fall of Erebor. He made a point to ignore the general carnage of the place. The success of this quest would rectify the horrors, which had happened in their palace. Of that he was sure.

And then, there it was in front of him. His grandfather’s chamber. His breath caught in his chest. The smashed and rotting tables, torn bits of tapestry, and shards of porcelain scattered about, could not be any more different from his memories of the place. Shattered bones and charred skulls were still strewn about with the rest of the detritus. Hardly how he wanted his nephews to first see their grandest hall.

There was no way that this place could be the great chamber, although it stood in its place. Splinters and ash were all that remained of the legacy of his people except for those items that had been snatched up by the greedy claws of the great wrym.

“This is the great chamber of Thrór” he said at long last, willing the emotion to leave his voice “the hall of feasting and of council. Not far off now is the front gate.”

He lead the others through the remains of the feast that had been interrupted by Smaug’s coming. Without turning his head, he glanced past where he knew his own seat at the head table had been. There he had been sitting only a few hours before the attack, dining with the family and with the heads of various guilds to discuss some tax or political agreement or other. Dorin had been the one to settle the inevitable squabbles that arose and had taken several of the most boisterous to another room to draw up a compromise. He was sent with some of the younger dwarf lords and their attendants on a hunt to amuse some of the guests. In this room had been the last time he had seen his Da alive.

He looked next at the empty place where his grandfather’s mithril throne had once been. No doubt it was somewhere in that pile of treasure, large and studded with gems as it had been. And of course, the King’s gem, the Arkenstone, had been set into the top of the throne, where it would shine down from just above his Grandfather’s head like the spirit of the mountain was watching him. Rays of light seemed to emanate from within the stone even in the deepest darkness, as though it were a living thing instead of a precious gem. Without giving a second glance he continued onward.

Soon the sound of water entered his hearing and the far end of the chamber was less dim. “There is the birth of the Running River.” He announced, leading Bilbo forward by the shoulder and pointing a golden clad hand out towards the light. “From here it hastens to the Gate. Let us follow it!”  
\----- 

Still they waited for news. Thorin could see that he was not the only one who was growing weary of the wait. Eight hours had his father and grandfather had been in council with the king of the Woodland Realm, and yet there was no sign that it was drawing to an end.

“I’m sending someone in,” Thorin said

“You can not do that, Thorin! You could make things harder for us all. Give it just a while longer. I am sure that good news will come soon,” Frerin said, placing his hands upon his brother’s shoulders and turning them to face one another. “We are so close now. Just give it a little more time.”

Frerin leaned his forehead towards Thorin’s and Thorin reluctantly closed the distance.

“I know you are right. And yet I can not shake the feeling that things are not going well.”

Frerin knocked his forehead against Thorin’s. “You must keep up your courage and set an example for our people, you know. You’re their future king, after all.”

“That’s quite right,” came another voice

They turned to see Dís approaching, still wrapped in a thick blanket over his tunic. 

“The positive outlook of royalty is a shining example to our people. We need to keep morale up now more than ever. If this negotiation is not fruitful, the people will need the strength of will to continue. Thorin, our father once told me that a rousing speech would lift the spirit in a moment of need. What better time than now?” said Dís.

Thorin let out a deep sigh. “I know you are right. “ 

Frerin gave him an encouraging smile. He lifted his head and walked passed his brothers, heading towards where most of his people were waiting.

“Good people of Erebor! Long is the road that we have traveled, and many have been the dangers. But mark my word, we shall have a home once more and our legacy shall be renewed. I swear to you on this day that I will help to rebuild that which we have lost! There will be more trials ahead of us; of that there can be no doubt. We are a noble people. We are not used to needing aid or having to ask for favors from our allies. But this is only temporary. We are not yet defeated so long as any of us yet live. And where there is breath to take, there is hope. Cast your eyes not downward; lift your heads confidently. Are we not still the mighty warriors of Durin’s line? Yes! That same strong blood flows through all of our veins and lends us strength. While we are still waiting, we are out of harm’s way. Please take this time to rest and enjoy the food and drink we have been gifted. Our King will return with news soon.”

A small cheer came up from those assembled. It was not nearly the same vigor that Dwarves usually replied to speeches with, but Thorin knew that he was not yet a great speaker and that his people were exhausted from travel.

It was another four hours before Thráin and Thrór exited the palace. Another cheer followed their arrival at the other side of the bridge. But Thorin could see on his father’s face that all had not gone well. He rushed to Thráin’s side.

“Father, what news do you bring?”

“Have we gotten the aid that we seek?” asked Frerin, coming up besides Thorin.

Thráin spun one of his beard beads between two fingers. “My dear children take comfort that our people are safe. We will be given rations enough to set off again tomorrow. We go to join our kin in the Grey Mountains at first light. Now go and let the people know to make camp here for the night, but that we to move again in the morning. I must go help our king to gather the supplies from the elven storehouses.”

Thorin could not believe his ears. After all that had happened, the King would still refuse to help them? He had already refused to help them fight the dragon when it came out of the West and burned their lands and people! He had even tried to go back on his word. He had thought he had managed to convince Thranduil that aid was needed, even if things had not gone well between them. But this was too much. 

He made for the palace gate.

“Thorin!” his father called, “Stop where you are!”

“No, father.” He turned, face growing red with anger. “I must make this King see reason! Even if it cost me my life, I shall not return until I do!”

Dis rushed to him and grabbed his arm. “Thorin, you must not! Not only would you be disobeying our Prince, but also you are jeopardizing what we have been given. Do not make this any harder.”

“I can not and will not watch our people continue to suffer needlessly!”

“So you would rather risk a fight with the person who has offered us some help? Risk us having nothing at all? You are gambling our survival on this! Can you not see that this is a time for caution?” 

“I will not allow—“

“Damn your pride, brother!” The wavering in Dis’ voice stopped Thorin’s words.

“Dis….” 

“Dis, you’re too sick. Get in bed, I will talk with our brother,” Frerin pleaded, gently taking Dis’ arm in his hand.

“No!” shouted Dis, throwing Frerin’s hand off him. 

Seeing the look in his eyes, Frerin stepped back, his hands up.

Dis turned quickly towards Thorin, pain burning like a fire in his eyes.“ Have we not lost enough already? Was it not enough that we could not even bury--” His voice cracked.

Thorin wrapped his arms tightly around his youngest brother and held him there, stroking his hair. “We will return one day and bury him. Da would not want us to risk our lives for a funeral.”

The head in his arms nodded and Thorin could feel breath against his shoulder. He loosened his grip to let his brother speak.

“I am glad to have you, my father’s son.”

“And I you, my father’s daughter.”

They tugged on each other’s braids and pressed their foreheads together.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” asked Frerin in mock sadness.

They made room and all three leaned their foreheads together.

He focused on the happy fact that he still had his brothers, father, and grandfather. Some of his family had managed to survive and that was a miracle in itself. Thorin wrapped his arms around both his brothers and hugged them tightly.

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you. I promise.”  
\------ 

Thorin felt his confidence rise with the ravens’ news of Smaug’s death and although his anger about a gathering army could not be hidden, there was at still hope. Erebor was a fortified place, after all, and between the might of their warriors, and the cunning and luck of their burglar, he felt almost invincible. It was sure to be a tough siege in light of their lack of rations, but the ravens would get word Dain and they would no doubt win.

The one thing that he was still bothered by was the matter of finding the letters. He needed to find them. And fast.

The time came to begin the night’s watch and he waited until Fíli was on watch and Kíli’s soft snoring could be heard before he set out to do his work. He slipped to a side room off the main passage, one that he had often seen the guards use for a moment’s peace, and lit his torch before heading back the way they’d come.

It was many hours before he had made it back to the tunnel, but though he searched through all the rubble, he could find no sign of the letters. Feeling somewhat defeated and coated in dirt, he determined he would look again on another night and he headed back towards their camp with a heavy heart.

As he approached the place they had chosen to rest, he heard the sound of voices ahead. He rushed towards them. Had something been spotted while he was away?

“What news?” he asked, a little short of breath from running up so many stairs in the heavy armor for the first time in years.

Kíli let out a yelp and Fíli jumped.

“Thorin?!” gasped Kíli incredulously, before lowering his voice to a whisper “By Mahal! I thought you were an orc!”

“If he was, you’d be dead with a reaction like that, Ki.” Fíli whispered back.

“Stop it, you two. Has something happened or not?” Thorin was also keeping his voice low.

The two boys looked to him, their expressions suddenly cold. “No. Fíli came to wake me up for my turn at watch and we noticed you were missing is all. You can get back to bed, Uncle.” The last word was spat with hatred.

Thorin was taken aback. He had never heard such a tone used for him before. He stared back for a moment, not moving.

“What?” asked Fíli with a sneer.

“I… I suppose it is nothing,” finished Thorin perturbed. He headed back to his bedroll, wondering what could possibly be bothering Fíli enough to put him in such a mood. It was true the boy had a temper, but this was not a usual level of anger for him. 

Thorin lay down and tried to go to sleep, but he couldn’t get comfortable. Each time he turned one way or another, it just felt like something was wasn’t right. 

And something wasn’t right. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Fíli had looked at him. Nor could he set aside the sound of the tone of his voice. What could possibly have done it? If it were something Kíli had done, he wouldn’t have still been talking with him so casually. Not without waking up the rest of their party fighting.

He tried to remember if Kíli had been acting strange too. But he couldn’t really remember. They both seemed a little jumpy though. But who wouldn’t be after being attacked by a dragon, even if it were now dead? After a long time of thinking it over to no avail, he finally succumbed to sleep.  
\----- 

There came a snide whisper. “Can you believe it? After all that, he can just sleep there peacefully.”

“You think he’s proud of what he’d done, the coward?”

Thorin thought at first it was a dream. But as the voices continued, he felt unsettled and cracked open one eye.

“Shit!” came the first voice, and he realized he knew it.

Thorin sat up and looked around to find his nephews staring down at him. There was some mischief afoot. “What are you two troublemakers up to?”

Fíli shook his head, glaring, and rose to leave.

“Ha,” said Kíli, moving to follow him, “and we’re the troublemakers? Of course.”

“Go back to bed, Uncle. I think it would be better for all of us.”

“No,” he said simply, “something is going on and I want to know what it is.” Thorin was in no mood for games. It was still dark out and the sound of snores yet filled the hall. He had been woken up before he should’ve been. And the way they spoke to him was clearly not just his imagination.

The two of them stared back at him in silence.

“Follow me,” Thorin said, standing. 

“Fine,” Fíli replied, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Kíli, let’s go have a little talk with Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin gritted his teeth and lead the boys down a back stairs and into a chamber far from where any others might be able to hear him. Closing the heavy wooden door behind him, he turned. “What the hell is going on with the two of you?!”

“What’s going on with us? What’s going on with us?!” Kíli trailed off into nervous laughter.

“We’re preparing for war, I don’t have time to try to tease answers out of you. You will answer me, and you will answer me now!”

Thorin’s words echoed in the silence that followed.

At last Fíli spoke. “Did you or did you not write us letters?”

Thorin’s heart felt as though it was in his throat. They must have read it then. No wonder the both of them were so upset. It was clear now why their actions had been as they were.

He took a deep breath and shook his head looking down. “Yes. I wrote you those letters. Though they were not meant to be read until after the next battle.”

“And what, you just get to die and leave us behind to find out the truth like that? In a damned letter?!”

“Fíli, you have to understand-“

“I don’t want to fucking understand! Everything… everything I knew is a lie!”

“That’s not true. It ju—“

“Stop it, Uncle!” screamed Kíli! “You think you can just claim ‘it was for the greater good’ and just dump us on Da? That we meant so little to you that you could just give us away and come in and out of our life when it was convenient for you?” His whole body was shaking.

“Kíli, I—“

“NO! We had a perfect family before this! While father was still alive he and Da loved each other so much. And you were there to help take care of us. Everyone was so fucking happy together! All five of us were normal!” Tears began to form in Kíli’s eyes. 

“Your father and Da always loved you, none of that was a lie,” Thorin tried to reason.

“How could you live with it?” Fíli burst in, striding up to Thorin and staring into his eyes. “Knowing that everything you did or said was a lie? Knowing your life was just an act?”

Thorin looked back, trying to convince Fíli with his look. “I wasn’t given a choice.”

“Well isn’t that convenient. You were forced. And you couldn’t find a time in the last fifty years to tell us?”

“When would I have been able to tell you? You wouldn’t have understood while you were still young. And by the time you could, you both were so happy. Much happier than you would’ve been with me. I didn’t want to destroy that.”

“Well, you have now, uncle. Uncle? Father? What do we even call a creature like you?”

Thorin reached out towards Fíli, but Fíli threw his hand away. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Thorin shut and put down his hand. “The letters were not written to hurt you. I just thought if you knew….” he trailed off. “I was selfish. “

“Finally he speaks some truth,” jeered Kíli.

Thorin sat down upon a rotting stool. “If it is truth that you seek, I am yours to ask. Any question you have, I will tell you the truth.”

Both brothers were silent, trying to deal with all that had happened. Thorin thought they would never speak again. He hung his head upon his knees. “Perhaps you need some time.”

Kíli spoke, coming closer to Thorin. “I only have one question for you, uncle. Why?”

Thorin raised his head. “Why didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” replied Kíli shortly, “Why did you even give us life?”

His face twitched. His insides twisted like his belly was full of molten iron. “Because,” Thorin answered, trying to hold back forming tears, “you were too precious to me. How could I deny life to my own flesh and blood?”

“But you must have known you couldn’t care for us!” gritted Kíli, his hands balling into fists. “Must’ve known you couldn’t keep us. And yet you still…”

“I tried to,” Thorin said quickly, “In my own way. You boys must know that I’ve always loved you. Getting to care for you was the greatest joy of my life.”

“How many others?” Fíli asked slowly.

“Others?”

Fíli nodded. “How many other children did you abandon for someone else to raise?”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Tears poured down Thorin’s face. His mouth moved, but no words would come.

“So there are others?” Fíli snorted in disgust. 

“Just one.”

“Who?!” burst out Kíli. “No! You know what, I don’t even want to know. Let him stay in his happy ignorance! He’s better off there. Better off not knowing where he came from. I hope the family you abandoned him with is a good one and never tells him the truth.”

Thorin cursed himself for having lost the letters. For having even decided to write them in the first place. It was so foolish and selfish for him to have done it. Why had he not just given them to Balin right after he wrote them?

“Just one….” Fíli studied Thorin’s face before his eyes widened in understanding. “It all makes sense now. Have you told him?”

Thorin could only shake his head.

“I see.” Fíli seemed to be thinking for a moment. “I think that’s enough questions for one night. We’ll leave you to your thoughts, Uncle.”

Kíli grabbed his brother’s arm. “I’m not done! I still have a lot of things that still need answers!”

“Kíli,” Fíli said seriously, twisting out of his younger brother’s grasp and taking his arm instead, “that’s enough for one night. Let’s get some sleep. We can talk about this all in the morning.”

Fíli put a hand on Kíli’s back and lead him to the door, forcing him through it first. Then he turned briefly back to Thorin. “I always knew something felt odd, but I blamed it on the inconsistency of childhood memories. Now I see that I was right. Does Gloin even know that you’re…?”

“No, he doesn’t,” replied Thorin, regret seeping out of his voice. “It is but one of my many regrets in this life.”

Fíli disappeared out the door and then reappeared, his head low and voice lower. “Kíli and I need some time to discuss these letters. There may be a war coming, but I should hope you can give us some time for this.”

Thorin nodded. “Of course.”

And with that, he was left alone to stew in his sorrows, here in the ruins of his childhood happiness. There was something almost poetic to the way his home destroyed his hopes and dreams. First with the dragon. And now with his sons. Would they ever forgive him?

He wiped his tear-streaked face. He had told them. What they chose to do with that knowledge was now up to them. He would be here if they ever decided to accept him.

And if they would not accept him? Then what?

He would focus his energy elsewhere. They still had to hold their Kingdom the treasures of their people. Yes, not just the gold, but the Arkenstone as well. The Arkenstone, his family’s most prized possession. It must be there somewhere in the horde. He would have to find it. Starting tomorrow he’d set men to search for it.  
\----- 

“Frerin, you’re too young to go!”

Frerin kicked a nearby chest with his boot, making a horrible noise and splintering the wood. “I am only five years younger than you are and you’re going to war!”

“It is my duty as the Prince to avenge our King and grandfather’s death!”

“And what, I have to wait on the sidelines like a child?! I’m an adult and I am going whether you want me to or not!”

Thorin could not believe his ears. Never had his brother been so obstinate. “As your brother and your prince, I’m ordering you not to go!”

“So what then, Thorin, you’re going to have me beheaded for still going off to war? What a great way to keep your little brother from dying.”

Thorin wished Dís could’ve been there to help him dissuade Frerin. Maybe he could get through the thick skull in front of him. “Father said you were to help me into armor. He never said anything about going into battle yourself!”

Frerin stood toe to toe with Thorin, looking dead into his eyes. “I am an adult now too! I passed my war trials, the same as you. I proved to Mahal that I am a capable warrior, the same as you. And I will be fighting for the honor of our family and our people. The same as you!”

“You are as blind and ignorant of what you speak as a goblin is to talk of elvish healing magic!” yelled Thorin.

“So now I’m stupid as well as a weak child?”

“Well, you’re certainly acting that way!”

“And to think I wanted to grow up to be just like you when we were children,” Frerin said with disgust. “You’re such an ugly person when you don’t get your way, brother. Lashing out like a warg caught in a trap. You keep that up and one day you’ll be all alone with your misery. Sitting in the dark ruins of what you thought was your life and wishing you could just take it all back But it’ll be too late then. You’ll be stuck in that wretched place with no one to blame but yourself.”

“Get out!” screamed Thorin, throwing over the preparation table that was closest to him, “Do what you want! Get yourself killed! I don’t care what happens to you!”

“Fine,” scoffed Frerin, dodging the objects heaved his way, “I hope you can live with what you’ve become.” He tore the necklace Thorin had forged for him for last name day from his neck and threw it upon the ground before storming out of the tent, “because I certainly can’t.” 

Thorin picked up the necklace and threw it as far away as he could, not wanting any reminder of that ungrateful child who wore his brother’s face. He had a battle to prepare for and he couldn’t afford to get distressed over this.  
\-----

Bilbo greeted him when he returned from the rooms below. “Thorin, I would speak to you. But… this seems a bad time?” The hobbit was staring at his eyes as if puzzling out a serious problem.

He nodded wearily and Bilbo led him to a side room so they might talk in private. He was thankful he had managed to get his face sorted out before he returned.

“Thorin, I am worried of what is to come. You cannot seriously be planning to go to war with the Elven army. You must see that we are outnumbered.”

“If it comes to that, then yes. The Kingdom of Erebor is even now being heavily fortified. We will be able to defend it without issue. Many are the sieges which have failed to uproot our people from this mountain.”

“Yes, I do not doubt that,” Bilbo said with a touch of desperation in his voice, “but no doubt you had supplies prepared for them. Rations, for instance. We do not have the food to keep us for a battle such as that.”

Thorin smiled. Bilbo had good intentions, but he was not well versed in planning for war. Supplies may be short, but there were still avenues available. The hobbit may have been one of them in spirit, but it seemed he still did not yet understand the importance this kingdom had for them. What it meant to be able to win back their home. The history of their people was something he would have to teach Bilbo over time. “You underestimate my good cousin, Master Baggins. He will come to our aid and bring us the supplies we need before we should have to worry. The ravens that once lived here are swift of wing and true of heart. And I would sooner die then let our Kingdom and its riches be snatched from us by a king who’s word has meant nothing!”

“But, Thorin, I—“

“Thorin!” called Dori, running to them out of breath. “The ravens bring good news! Three of the ponies have been seen, still alive and carrying food and water besides! If we hurry, we can grab them before the army draws near. We hear that the Elvenking has turned away from the lake with some of the men there and surely he will make his move soon.”

Thorin’s face lit up. “That is great news, indeed! Send Fíli and Kíli to me and make haste. Have the others finish fortifying the front gate.”

Dori nodded and ran back to where the others were gathered.

Thorin placed a hand upon Bilbo’s shoulder. “I understand your concerns, Master Baggins. And were the situation different perhaps we could do things your way. But our people have lost too much and been forsaken for too long to turn back now. I have lost many in my family and countless friends. It is for them and for those of us who still survive that we must secure this place. If we succeed, never again shall any dwarf of the line of Durin have to beg for work or food in the streets of men or elves. I am sorry, you cannot understand how we feel in this. But I hope that once we have our victory and you see how our Kingdom regains its own, that you will come to understand.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them. It was Fíli, with Kíli at his side. 

“You have sent for us?”

“Yes. I…” Thorin paused for a moment, trying to come up with the best way to address his nephews. He was still unsure of how things stood between them and he neither wanted to aggravate the delicate situation, nor to make things appear out of place to others. “We have heard from the ravens that ponies have been spotted with supplies. Since you two are the fastest, I had hoped you might be able to retrieve from them what you can while the rest of us finish the fortifications.”

Kíli smirked a little. “As you wish.”

The two young dwarves left without another word, leaving Thorin still perplexed about how to deal with them. But there was little time for such things. He had a fortress to finish fortifying and battle plans to start working on.

“I will leave you to it, then,” said Bilbo reluctantly. 

“We will speak again, master Baggins. Would you send Balin to me?” he asked

The hobbit nodded. Thorin gave clasped a hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. Bilbo gave him a small smile, squeezed the arm in return and left, pulling out of Thorin’s grasp.

As he moved to the war table they’d set up from rubble, he wondered how his life had led him here. How had everything gotten so out of control? 

He reached forward and grabbed a golden figure from the map, turning it over in his hand. It was a dwarven warrior that was once a child’s toy. He held it up close to his face to examine the details. Although it was but a child’s toy, this small token felt like something precious. His eyes swept over the golden figures scattered like golden fish in the sea. And each one was precious. Each one was a child, a family, who was to be avenged. 

There was no way he could let anyone take their homeland. He couldn't let anyone take any of these precious relics of his people. Every bit of gold and gems in this mountain was something that was dragged from his people’s home or their corpses. No, there was no way he would let anyone snatch their gold from them. 

“Thorin. Master Bilbo says you called for me. How can I be of assistance?”

“My old friend, we have much to discuss.”  
\----- 

“Thorin.”

The feel of a hand upon his shoulder woke him. As he sat up, Thorin saw Gloin’s face close to his. He froze in mid-motion. 

“It’s the lads, Thorin. They’ve r’turned to us with the supplies and news of the army.”

A feeling of relief swept over him. His secret was safe for another day “My good cousin, thank you. Will you send them to me?”

Gloin smiled down at him and clasped an arm to Thorin’s forearm, hefting him up to his feet. “Aye, that I will.” 

“Thank you.”

Gloin gave Thorin’s arm a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Thorin was no longer sure if it was the usual gesture or something more.

As he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, he grabbed his coat from where it sat to the side of his bedroll and put it on. Then he set about adjusting the areas of his armor he had loosened to sleep in.

“Here we are, lads,” Gloin said as he led Fíli and Kíli back to Thorin.

Thorin nodded his thanks. 

“If there’s anything else ya need….”

“No, that will be all, Gloin,” Thorin replied awkwardly.

Fíli raised an eyebrow as Gloin gave a bow and left the room to return to other duties.

The three of them stood in silence. All staring at one another without moving.

“I am—“

“We just—“

Both sides were silent again.

Eventually Thorin held out a hand, gesturing one of the boys to speak first.

“We brought back the supplies and then sent the ponies back towards the Lake,” started Kíli.

“Very good. And Gloin mentioned the army?”

“They have begun to move this way. Not just the elves, but a group of Lake men as well,” Fíli explained.

“Looks like our fate is in the hands of our cousin, Dain, and his army. Should he reach us in time, it will be enough,” said Thorin, mostly to himself and to fill the silence he worried would follow.

“Uncle, keep your courage. Dain will come, as you said.” Fíli took a step forward. “We will make our stand together.”

Kíli stepped up beside his brother. “We will fight together as a family.”

Thorin looked between them. He could see the reflections of his own youth and ambition in their faces. He searched for any signs of malice in their words, but he could find none. Was this what redemption would look like?

“Fíli. Kíli. You two, who are my great joy. There is no greater honor for me, than to be able to fight alongside you as kin once more,” he said placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

Both boys pulled out of the grip and Thorin’s heart sank again.

“We have come to understand your actions,” Fili started, “but we can’t accept them. We can not deny that which is in our blood, nor the command of our King, but that does not mean we are yet ready to forgive you.”

Thorin bit his lip and turned away from them. “I understand. Go store the provisions and then take a rest. I am sure you both need it.”  
\-----  
The night came when Balin and Gloin rushed from their look out to round up the others. Fires could be seen from just south of Dale.

“They have come!” Balin had shouted as he brought Thorin to see for himself. “And their camp is great. They must have come into the valley under the cover of dusk along both banks of the river.”

Thorin looked in dismay as the glow of fires spread further than he had anticipated. He placed a hand on Balin’s shoulder. “It won’t be much longer now, I suspect, until the armies of men and elves are at our door. Let us have rations together and speak of strategy with the others.”

Balin nodded and gave Thorin short but firm clap on the shoulder before he left. Thorin gave one last long look before he went to meet with his company.

They discussed their options over a meal of cram with a few roasted mushrooms that Oin and Ori had managed to find growing near their post. It was a welcomed relief to have something fresh to eat.

“Have the ravens been seen? Do we know for sure that Dain will come?” asked Dori, worried.

“He will come,” replied Dwalin. 

“Will we have enough to eat before he gets here?” asked Bombur, rubbing his belly sadly. “We only have so much cram left and the mushrooms will not last the week.”

“He will make it in time,” said Thorin wearily. “My cousin knows how dire our situation is and he will not abandon us while Erebor can be reclaimed.” He turned to Oin. “Did you find anything left in the infirmary?” 

Oin shook his head. “There’s a few rusted needles I might be able to clean and sterilize. But any remaining medicines have since spoiled. My own set is hardly enough to manage for such a large battle”

“Ori, you will go with Oin tomorrow and search for herbs along the protected part of the mountainside. If there is a patch of grass there, they may be other things yet living.”

“Thorin, can we not reason with them?” asked Bilbo, who had until this point been silent.

“Reason with them? If they wanted to reason, would they not send unarmed messengers to my gates instead of marching an army? No, we will not reason with a King who uses a threat of violence to steal our people’s hard earned wealth.”

“And what of the people of Dale? They offered us aide and all they have been repaid with is the destruction of Smaug’s fire. Surely you have no forgotten their hospitality when we were in need! We should repay their kindness in their time of need,” pleaded Bilbo.

“If the people of Dale came by themselves, we would speak with their Master. But it is that son of an orc, Thranduil, who leads this march. We will give nothing to the Lakemen while they are led by that witless elf king,” snarled Thorin and he spat on the floor, Dwalin and Bifur following suit. 

“But Thorin, they are suffering!” cried Bilbo.

“Enough! I will hear no more of this talk.” Thorin rose and went to the window, looking out at the waning crescent of moon.

“My good hobbit,” said Balin, “you must understand, when this Kingdom was burned to ash, our King entreated the Elvenking to give aid, but he would give little. He gave much to the men of Dale and sent our people off with little more than a pat on the back. What little aide we received was hard won by Thorin and his brother’s hard work.”

“I thought Thorin had a sister?”

“Aye, he does. The lad’s Da.”

“So where is he? Back with the sister in Ered Luin?”

“No,” Thorin said, turning from the window. “He died on the field at Azanulbizar. Another victim of Azog’s attacks on our line. We could not even give him a full funeral.”

Bilbo looked to Thorin puzzled.

“He took the head. To shame us they always took the heads.” Thorin’s hands trembled in tight fists.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean….” Bilbo looked down ashamed.

“We will not be forsaken our homeland or our people again! We shall defeat the armies of the Elvenking, just as we defeated Azog! By Mahal, I will not let any of Durin’s folk suffer under my watch.”

A cheer came up from the dwarves, raising their mugs of water as though it were ale and toasting to their victory to come.

He turned to Fíli and Kíli. “I will not sit by and watch my kin suffer,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Fíli had reached in his pocket, searching for something. Thorin wasn’t sure what it was, but Fíli seemed very determined to find it.

Bofur and Bombur nodded at one another and began a hardy song about the might of Nain the first and his battle prowess. The other dwarves soon joined in, dancing and singing around the table. Thorin looked over the company with pride until his eyes met Bilbo. There was a deep sadness there, which he did not understand. He turned instead to the group and joined in their song.  
\----- 

Thorin’s hands tore through the bloody grass. It had to be here somewhere. Hopefully no orc filth had stolen it from the ground.

Moans still came from the wounded across the field of battle, mixed with the occasional cries as dwarves searched for a fallen or missing comrade. But Thorin could hear none of it. He was too focused on searching for the amulet. Surely this is the spot where he had thrown it.

A large hand clasped his shoulder and he threw it off, not even looking to whose it was. “Leave me alone, I have to find it.”

“Thorin, our King, your father, needs you.”

He ignored the voice, crawling forward on his knees and gasping at everything he could.

“What are you looking for, lad?”

“The necklace.” Thorin’s voice hitched in his throat and hot tears began to pour down his face. “Frerin’s necklace.” 

The large hand grabbed his bicep, pulling him upward. “Come, lad, we will search again once the bodies have been cleared. Go now to your father.”

Thorin pulled against the arm and his hand found smooth metal. With wide eyes he tore from the grasp and scooped up the bloodied thing.

His hand came to his mouth as he held the pendant in his other hand. He had found it. The amulet he had made for Frerin. The one that was supposed to keep him safe. The one he had thrown when he had said all those terrible things.

“I never meant it,” he sobbed and pulled the necklace close to his chest.

The warrior got down and sat besides Thorin, resting his redhead against Thorin’s. “Laddie,” he started, “I will give you a moment. Just remember that our King is grieving just as much as you are for your brother. It would ease both of your sorrows if you went to one another.”

Thorin nodded as Groin gave him a short tug on his beard and left him alone.  
\----- 

Thorin went to rouse Fíli for his turn at watch and found him awake, staring at something in his hand. As he approached he gasped. There in the boy’s hand was Frerin’s necklace. He had given it to Fíli many years ago, but he had never told him what it was.

“This was his, wasn’t it?” asked Fíli softly.

Thorin sat down besides the young dwarf. “Yes, it was.”

“Da once told me that it was a protection pendant made with great love.”

“Yes, I made it to protect my reckless younger brother. But I fear that when he needed it most he was not wearing it.”

“If he wasn’t wearing it when he fell, what happened? Da told me you brought it back from the battle.”

Thorin motioned for Fíli to follow him and they went to the ramparts where Fíli’s watch was to begin. He paused a moment before he answered. “Frerin and I… we fought before the battle. It was a nasty business. He returned the necklace and in my anger I threw it away. I wished him dead and….” He took another pause, trying to make his words come. 

Fíli placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I can guess the rest.” 

Thorin met Fíli ’s gaze. There was only understanding in his eyes. 

“May I ask you one more difficult question?” Fíli asked.

“Yes,” he answered. Thorin felt like he owed the boys some answers still.

“What ever became of mine and Kíli’s other fathers?”

Thorin wondered when he would have to face these questions. It was only natural to want to know who your parents were, he supposed. “Your other father, Lord Alnig, was a true warrior and his skill in negotiation was the envy of many a dwarf lord. We were to be betrothed and I thought that he might be my One. However, I was not his. When he found his one, it was not for me to stand in the way of Mahal’s plan. But by then I had already been blessed with you,” he replied, taking his time to let each phrase fall from his lips. To speak of these events, even so many years later, brought back the bitter sweet emotions he had held for so long.

Fíli stared on with awe. “You… let him go?”

Thorin chuckled sadly. “You sound like your Da. He asked me the same when I told him the news. To see them together… well, you could tell that they were meant for one another. But although I was not allowed to keep you, your Da volunteered to raise you in my stead so that we could keep you and your brother.”

“And Kíli’s father? What became of him?” asked Fíli, with urgent curiosity.

“I do not know. It was an unfortunate affair all around. But nevertheless, I could not help but want my son to have a chance at life. And so he too, went with your Da to be raised.”

And then Fíli asked the hardest question of all. “Why did you two not keep Gimli?”

Thorin’s heart sank. “If only we could have. But even when he was born he had that firey red hair that looked nothing like your Da or Father. And so we had no choice but to send him to his other father.”

Fíli scratched his cheek. “I see. My brother was too upset from earlier to be able to listen, so I will tell him what you have said. It is not easy for either of us to accept all of these things that have happened.”

Thorin reached out and lightly laid his hand upon Fíli’s, half expecting to have his touch rejected. Instead, Fíli laid his other hand atop Thorin’s.

“I am glad you will speak with me again, Fíli,” he said.

Fíli looked away guiltily. “When we were out getting the ponies we had a bit of an incident.”

“What kind of ‘incident?” asked Thorin, concerned.

“ It was when we were coming up over this one hill, a hawk flew down. I don’t even know why, maybe out of fear from the dragon earlier, but it spooked Kíli’s pony. He was thrown and rolled a good way back down the hill before he stopped. I called to him and he wasn’t moving.”

Thorin could feel the pain that was manifesting in Fíli’s eyes as he recounted the tale. He knew too well the pain of watching a younger brother suffer and feel helpless over it.

“I called to him again, but he still didn’t stir. When I got down to him he was just lying there, bleeding a little from the head. I called to him over and over again but he didn’t move.”

Thorin watched Fíli’s features contort further in remembered pain as he spoke. He was about to speak when he realized it may be best to let the boy just get it out.

“He must’ve hit his head on one of the rocks on the way down and knocked himself out. But I thought he was dead. I panicked! I felt so helpless. There were so many things that I wanted to tell him. So many things that…” Fíli paused, getting his emotions back under control.

Thorin rested a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me if it is difficult, I know well that dreadful feeling.”

Fíli shook his head, then continued, “I realized after we got back that I didn’t want any secrets between us, not that we have many. But I thought if there was a way to make sure that even if something happened to me, that he would know everything, I would want to do it.”

Thorin nodded.

“Then I understood. Your letters were just that.”

His felt warm inside to know that at last his son understood. Thorin wrapped his arms around Fíli, pulling him tightly to his chest.

“Fíli, I am glad you and your brother made it back to us.”

“We both love you. As the uncle you have been, and as the father we know you could be. It has been difficult, but it is getting easier.”

“My son and heir, I take great strength in knowing that you will lead our people after me. I am sorry for the hurt I have caused you and Kíli. But I am not sorry that you know, nor that I have been able to watch you grow into such fine warriors.” 

Fíli gave him a small smile. It was not the open one he used to give, but it was more than Thorin had expected to see so soon after their argument. It gave him hope.

“I will leave you to your watch.”

\----- 

“Thorin, they have come again,” said Balin.

“They will be dealt with. How fare our brothers in the quest for the Arkenstone?”

“It has not yet been found, but so far we have only made it through a third of the horde.”

“I see. Well, in addition to the watch shifts, let us put men on a rotation to look for the store as well. The sooner it is found, the better.”

“I will make up the shifts henceforth. And what of the elves and men?”

“If they wish to entreat us again, then so be it. I will go and meet with them, grab a couple men and meet me there.”

Balin gave a nod. 

Thorin went to the overlook in time to see the small group approach. Bifur and Oin and Balin joined him there shortly after. 

They watched as a pair of heavily armed elvish archers and three spearmen of the lake approached the gate, observing their battlements.

Thorin called down to them, “Who are you that come as if in war to the gates of Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the mountain, and what do you desire?”

The five men said nothing, but turned and headed back towards camp. Thorin felt a foreboding within him and his need to find the Arkenstone grew more urgent, though he knew not why.

This urgency only increased when the army moved their camp to the arms of the mountain. It seemed like there was some foul plot at work and he worried after his people and their treasure. He had two pairs of men set on shifts to search for it instead of just one.

There came more men and elves to the gate, never answering his calls, just observing and leaving. 

Finally a man named Bard, the dragonslayer the ravens had spoken of, came to offer terms. It was not a pleasant conversation. The man was grimmer than Roac had said and demanded the wealth of their people with two armies at his back. Thorin did not think it unreasonable to give Bard some of lost treasures of Dale to rebuild. However, the gleaming armor of the vast armies was a blinding threat of violence and Thorin would not start his reign as King by being cowed into submission, least of all by someone who aligned themselves with Thranduil who would not honor this own word. To treat under such terms seemed nothing less than foolishness and a way to lose all they had struggled to reclaim.

The whole affair ended as Bard had declared war upon them. Another war council was convened. Bilbo had been quite upset about the whole business and Balin had seemed worried, but the rest of the company was in agreement that there was no treaty possible while an army was brought to the negotiation table. Their fortifications had been complete and so half the company rotated on guard duties while the other half, the youngest and with the best vision, were set on looking for the Arkenstone.  
\--- 

While Thorin was looking out over the field that would be filled with warrior in the next day or two, Fíli and Kíli approached him.

“Well, this is it boys, your first big battle. Are you nervous?” Thorin asked, eyes still cast upon the open space even in the darkness.

“More excited than nervous,” said Fíli with a smile.

“We are honored to fight for our King,” began Kíli, “And for our father.”

“Is it not a son’s proud duty to be able to fight for the honor of their family and their people,” Fíli replied, “side by side like in the old tales?”

Thorin wrapped an arm around each of them and pulled them close. He loved his sons more than he could have imagined. To have them accept was his greatest joy. “When this battle is over we are going to have a proper coronation. That much I promise you. I had worried about if you two were ready, but after all that we have been through, I am now certain that you are both are more than deserving.” 

“You can’t really think Fíli’s ready to wear a crown and go tromping around in finery. He’s too clumsy for all that.”

“Then it’s a good thing he will have you to assist him,” Thorin replied, tension slipping from his shoulders at the usual humor returning to the boys.

Fíli smiled while Kíli frowned.

“Do not be so glum, Kíli. Your Da looked after me when I was heir and it saved me many times.” He stroked Kíli‘s soft hair. “As long as you stick together, neither of you will have any problems.”

“And what about you?” asked Kíli, looking up at him

“What about me?”

“Who’s looking after you while Da isn’t around?” 

Thorin chuckled. “We have a whole company, I hardly need anyone else to look after me.”

“We are going to look after him,” Fíli announced in a tone that did not allow for argument.

“Good idea!” Kíli exclaimed. “You never know what sort of mischief he’ll get himself into if we’re not around.”

“Boys—“

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Father,” said Fíli seriously, wrapping his arms tightly around Thorin.

“That’s a promise!” Kíli said with a nod and a wide grin.

Thorin grabbed Kíli, pulling him against him too. He held his boys tightly. Come whatever may, he had had this moment with his sons and felt like his life so far had been worth it. All the pain and suffering was nothing compared to the happiness of his sons. If they could manage to hold their Kingdom, then everything he had worked for in this life would be complete. This moment truly was, the happiest in his life. And he would cherish it forever.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Orchis for BETAing this monster for me and patiently working out some major problems. A a thank you to McKittericks who pushed me to write this a year ago.  
> \------------------------  
> Translations of the Sindarin: *Behold, my lord. There are two dwarves of Erebor.
> 
> My lord, is there trouble?
> 
> I don’t know. But, I know those dwarves.*
> 
> *My lord-*


End file.
